


All Purity, All Trial, All Observance

by perfectlystill



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, Self-Acceptance, Underage Drinking, background pre-Maya/Lucas, because i just! can't! help! myself! apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: Riley's brain goes through a rationalization process. Maya is cool and has a distinct leadership quality about her. Riley wants Maya to like her, and she likes the status it gives her, likes the way being Maya's best friend makes her feel about herself. She likes the way Val looks when she runs, legs long and toned, and Riley's limbs feel awkward in comparison. She dreams up scenarios: Val wakes up at five every morning and runs through Central Park, taking a different route depending on the day of the week, breath fogging up in the winter, pink earmuffs and cheetah print gloves on. Denise has the longest eyelashes Riley has ever seen, and she wishes she could apply mascara and eyeliner the same way, but 1. she can't and 2. when she tries it doesn't look the same. It looks weird on her face: too bold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is some brief underage drinking and mentions of it in two scenes, and a few mild sexual references scattered throughout. Nothing too heavy or detailed in that regard. Very brief mention of homophobia, and a lot about working through heteronormativity and self-acceptance.
> 
> A special thank you to [Ares](http://archiveofourown.org/users/absoluteares/pseuds/absoluteares) for reading the initial draft and being the most supportive friend and cheerleader. You're the actual best, and I don't know where I'd be without you -- as a writer or a person. 
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's _As You Like It_.

There's a tug in her chest whenever she sees a pretty girl, and wow, okay, there are a lot of pretty girls. 

Riley's brain goes through a rationalization process. Maya is cool and has a distinct leadership quality about her. Riley wants Maya to like her, and she likes the status it gives her, likes the way being Maya's best friend makes her feel about herself. She likes the way Val looks when she runs, legs long and toned, and Riley's limbs feel awkward in comparison. She dreams up scenarios: Val wakes up at five every morning and runs through Central Park, taking a different route depending on the day of the week, breath fogging up in the winter, pink earmuffs and cheetah print gloves on. Denise has the longest eyelashes Riley has ever seen, and she wishes she could apply mascara and eyeliner the same way, but 1. she can't and 2. when she tries it doesn't look the same. It looks weird on her face: too bold. 

Ideas and reasons are easy, and her brain provides them with a snap of her fingers. 

She has no way of differentiating between admiration and envy, between friendship and something more. She doesn't understand how all of these thoughts and feelings can intersect.

 

 

With damp palms, an open heart, and self-reflection tickling the back of her throat, Riley sits Lucas down in the bay window. "I think we should break up." She swallows, tracking the set of his eyebrows. "For real."

"Okay," he says, the words pulled slowly from his mouth like taffy.

"It's not that I don't like you, Lucas," Riley clarifies. She wants to be clear, and she wants everything to make sense. She needs reasons, and she needs those reasons to be different from excuses. "I want us to always be friends, and I want to always be able to talk to you. But I just don't think we're ... romantically compatible."

"Okay."

"I really hope you understand that I'm not trying to be cruel. I know that we went through a lot to get to this point, but it's just not working, you know?"

Lucas nods. "I know."

"What do you mean?" Riley tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and chews on her bottom lip.

"I mean that I feel what you feel," he says. His body is turned toward her, open and honest, but they're not touching at all. Riley could scoot a few inches over, press her knee against his, but she doesn't. Before, it had been a constant focus: _are we touching or not?_ , an awareness of the space and wondering if it should or shouldn't be present. 

"You do?" Riley feels her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

"Yeah, I--" Lucas ducks his head, and when he makes eye contact Riley wipes her palms against the itchy fabric of her skirt. "Can I kiss you?"

"What- I- What- Lucas- Um- Sure?" Riley blinks. 

Lucas laughs, a soft and fond sound that still makes Riley feel warm inside, if not excited and gooey. He shifts closer and places both hands on her cheeks. He's warm like her heart beating inside her chest. Even though the thing she convinced herself could be her forever is breaking down in a way that's so normal it feels like a disservice, her heart still beats steady and constant. Lucas kisses her. A soft peck. 

And then he pulls pack, his hands still on her, but his eyebrow arches with his smile: "See? It's like that."

Riley exhales, and she's glad he understands, but she wishes he was more upset. He drops his hands easily and creates comfortable and friendly distance between their bodies. She wishes he would fight for her, but Lucas has never fought for her in the way she's always dreamed about, his best attempts superficial and shallow and rearing their head at all the wrong times. "Nothing," she agrees. 

It's the clear reason she wanted. Romantically incompatible. 

It still feels verging on excuse territory, so she continues: "I'm really sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Riley." His brow furrows. "Is there?"

"No," she responds quickly, smoothing out her skirt. 

She can think of a few things, really, and there are more apologies curling around her tongue, but Riley isn't ready to voice them yet, and she doesn't think they're for Lucas, anyway. Not at the root.

"Good." There's relief in the set of his shoulders and the softness of his jaw, and Riley hates it. She'd feel worse if he were hurt, she knows, but he's so unhurt that she feels insecure. "And I just want you to know you can always talk to me about anything. That won't change."

"Good," Riley echos, feeling her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She wonders if he already knows, but she convinces herself he can't -- she's just figuring it out herself. She takes a breath to calm the anxiety threatening to knot in the pit of her stomach and opens her arms for a hug, and Lucas pats her back awkwardly before leaving her room. 

She lies down on her bed after, staring at the ceiling in silence. His shoes that she's stolen over the years are still tucked in a basket in the closet, and she's not ready to return them yet, because once she does, it's real. The fantasy is mostly over, but Riley wants to let it linger a little longer. 

 

 

Smackle carefully sets her stack of books down on her desk before taking her seat. Riley is peripherally aware of this as she watches Maya groan, head falling onto her desk and eyes sliding shut. "Why did I agree to this again?"

"Because I thought 'Romance and Tragedy' meant we were going to be reading a lot more romantic comedies and less about men going on journeys through woods." 

"I think I doth protested too little," Maya mumbles. 

Riley beams and tilts her head, ready to offer words of encouragement when Smackle interrupts: "Actually, love is a common theme in _As You Like It_. I think many scholars would consider it a romantic comedy."

"Bite me," Maya says. She hasn't lifted her head at all, and Riley smiles fondly at the grumpy lines on her forehead.

"It doesn't seem very funny," Riley replies, turning toward Smackle. 

"You can always watch it live to better appreciate the humor. It _is_ a play." Smackle tugs at her planner, opening up a page to write down the homework assignment their teacher has written on the board, and a flyer flutters out. 

"Oh!" Riley leans over on instinct to pick it up, and her eyes scan over the words written in rainbow font: 

GSA MEETING  
Wednesday at 3 PM in room 226.  
All students welcome!

"You're going to this?" Riley asks. The paper crinkles in her hand. 

"Yes." 

"Good for you!" Riley shoves the flyer back onto Smackle's desk. Smackle raises her eyebrows before folding the flyer in half and sliding it securely underneath the paperclip marking the week in her planner. "Embracing yourself, I mean." 

"Okay," Smackle responds. She's looking at Riley with some mixture of quizzical and condescension, and Riley wants the floor to open up and swallow her. Smackle makes self-acceptance seem so simple and natural. She never came out officially, but she started to speak about girls along the same vein she speaks about Lucas, with an awkward confidence about her attraction that Riley has come to appreciate. It's a bluntness and an honestly that makes Smackle unique and wonderful. 

Riley's eyes dance between Smackle's face and the folded up sheet of paper, a stretched smile on her mouth. 

She wants to ask questions or offer platitudes she knows Smackle doesn't need or want. 

"You can come with," Smackle offers. 

"Oh, I--" Riley feels her lungs deflate, and her eyes jump around to the area behind Smackle's head. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans and bunches the fabric into her fists. Her mind whirs, and she wonders if it seems more or less suspicious to attend the meeting. "Sure." She feels rude and weird and suspicious enough, and she doesn't want Smackle to think she's judging her when she's not at all -- when she _admires_ her. 

"Okay." Smackle tugs the flyer from her paperclip and hands it over to Riley. Riley's fingers curl around it, and she can feel her heart palpitations threatening to make her dizzy. "See you there."

There's a small smile at the corner of Smackle's mouth, and Riley's grateful. 

"Oh my god, that's like fifty pages," Maya says, lifting her head from her desk and looking at the assignment on the board. 

"41," Smackle corrects.

"Ugh."

 

 

Riley dawdles outside the classroom, trying to look busy and waiting for Smackle to arrive. She's taken everything in her backpack out and rearranged it twice, refreshed all her social media at least four times, and awkwardly made eye contact with two-hands worth of people. One ended up going into the classroom, so Riley looks forward to not making eye contact with him for the next hour. 

"Matthews!" comes a familiar voice, and Riley blanches before smiling at Zay.

"Hello." She nods her head and pulls on her backpack straps, causing the entire bag to fall a little lower and whack her in the butt. 

"I heard about you and Lucas."

"Oh, that's--" Riley waves her hand around. "Nothing. It was mutual."

"I'm glad," Zay says, a balance of sincerity and lightness that Riley always struggles trying to hit. "You never know if you don't try, right?"

"That's what they say." Riley nods once and looks over her shoulder quickly. "Well, I need to--" She starts pointing haphazardly and takes a step backward, a few seconds from walking down the hallway and turning the corner, skipping the meeting because she doesn't think she's strong enough for this or anywhere near ready enough. She has this horror scenario playing in her head where the teacher in charge of GSA asks her to stand up in front of everyone and introduce herself. She doesn't want to, and she doesn't think she can. She just knows that she's not ... whatever it is she thought she was supposed to be. But then she catches sight of Smackle marching toward them. "Smackle!"

Zay's smile blooms as he twists to look at her. "Izzy! You're early."

She rolls her eyes. "The meeting starts at 3. I have never been late."

"She usually shows up at 2:59 with a stack of books to her nose," Zay tells Riley, a fond twinkle in his eye. "The librarians hate her."

"I have to go before the meeting because the library is closed by the time it finishes."

"What?" Riley asks, panicked. The school library is usually open until 4:30. She didn't think GSA would last over an hour. 

"Well, I usually drag her out for hot dogs after," Zay says, "Or bananas. Or fish tacos, if that's what you're into." Zay wiggles his eyebrows.

"Gross," Smackle says. Riley looks between them, confused. "If you need to stop by the library after, we can wait for you. We also will not force you to eat with us."

"Oh, okay, no, I just." Riley breathes. "I didn't know this was a weekly thing you two did together."

"Monthly," Smackle clarifies.

"It's a good time." Zay throws an arm over Riley's shoulder and starts walking her through the classroom door, sending her a wink. "I'm glad you decided to join the cool kids." 

The desks in the classroom have been pushed toward the walls and the chairs have been arranged into an oval. The faculty adviser sits at her desk, flipping through a textbook and typing things into her laptop. Riley slides off her backpack and places it behind a chair, relieved when Zay and Smackle sit on either side of her. It feels like easy protection, and Riley briefly wishes Maya was here before being grateful that she's not. She thinks there'd be more of a show if Maya was here, that she'd have to loudly proclaim herself an "A" instead of a "G," and she has never been fond of lying, especially the outright kind. 

The meeting is different than Riley thought it would be, starting with the fact that roughly half of the chairs stay empty. The adviser sits at her desk in the back the entire time, only piping up once to remind everyone that their experiences and ideas are all valid. Riley doesn't speak a word, and no one asks her to, but the boy from the hallway smiles at her when she accidentally catches his eye while turning to look at the clock. The environment is organized but relaxed, and a tan girl with straight black hair and Lisa Loeb glasses spearheads discussion and conversation. Zay inserts comments and jokes throughout, and Smackle offers to compile a list of advocates and activists that people can sign up to make informative posters about for LGBT history month. 

When they discuss national coming out day, Riley bites her lip and squeezes her hands together on her lap. 

"It's hard," a redhead says. "Because I want everyone to know I'm gay, but I don't want to have to tell them."

"And some people don't want anybody to know," the person sitting next to them says. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know, because ... people can be hateful? They could be kicked out of their houses."

"Because they're still figuring it out themselves," another kid offers before shrugging. "It's hard to figure out who you are, anyway. And it's even harder when society has told you you're one thing your entire life only to try to figure out how much of that you actually are, if at all. I like people. But sometimes I still wonder if I really like girls, or if I'm still holding onto everyone telling me I was going to be a "ladies man" as a kid. And then I wonder if I'm being ... biphobic? Shit's tough."

"Language," the teacher says, but there's no real punch behind the word. 

"Sorry." The boy blushes.

Riley feels her chest expand. She wants to get up and give him a hug, but she doesn't want to draw attention to herself. 

She learns a lot from the meeting, both about what GSA does and the personal, intimate lives of the people who attend the club. She feels better about the nebulous area she's occupying, and she feels closer to Smackle and Zay -- even though she declines the offer to join them at a diner for french fries. She wants to ask them both a lot of questions. She wants to ask Zay if he's a "G" or an "A," while knowing she'd rather walk over hot coals than answer it herself. She wants to ask Smackle the same thing, knowing Smackle would have an easy and honest answer free from any baggage, that Smackle isn't hiding anything. Riley wants facts and labels and clear definitions. She doesn't know if she should want those things, and she doesn't even know if she needs them. But she feels better able to make the distinction between the want and the need, and she feels better equipped to speak to why she wants or needs those things. She feels realer, somehow, truer and lighter. Zay promised her they'd remind her about next month's meeting if she wants to attend again, and as she sits on the subway, feet tapping against the floor, she thinks she will.

 

 

"Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love," Riley reads aloud. 

"Nice, isn't it?" Smackle says, highlighting the line in bright pink -- she's organized her highlighter colors by theme, and Riley gladly takes the pen from her when she holds it out, doing the same.

"Worms eating men?" Maya answers. "Very."

Riley smiles, leaning over to nudge Maya's shoulder with her own. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, but I do." She flips through the play and rolls her eyes. "Boys are so," she pauses and scrunches up her nose, "stupid."

"Except for Marcus, who you oogle in English instead of doing the assignments," Smackle says, writing some notes in the margin of her book. 

"How do you oogle him?" Riley asks. "You sit in the front row. I made you." 

Maya smiles around her tongue, pink tip out between her teeth. Her eyes mischievous and voice lilting: "I have my ways."

"We're going to talk about this later," Riley insists. She wants to hear what Maya thinks about Marcus; she wants to know the actual thoughts that go through her head when he makes a joke in class or when he smiles at her. She wants to know most of the things Maya thinks because Maya is amazing and interesting and her favorite person, but she also wants to know what someone who likes to kiss boys thinks about them. Maya has kissed _a lot_ of boys and waxed poetic about it when they've turned off the lights in her room and the dark covered them like a blanket. Riley has kissed one boy and felt nothing. 

She turns her attention to Smackle, glasses slipped an inch down her nose. Riley's fingers itch to reach across the table and push them gently back up. "You said this line is nice," Riley clarifies. 

"I find the sentiment comforting, yes." Smackle has dark, sparkling eyes. There's a confidence about them that matches her posture. She raises her eyebrows for a moment, as if to tell Riley she can do this herself. 

"It's saying that," Riley starts slowly, pausing between words as she rereads the conversation. "It's not that Rosalind doesn't believe in love or that she thinks it's not good. She just knows that there's no such thing as a perfect fantasy."

"She's a realist," Maya offers. She's making tally marks in the margins of her copy. Riley has no idea what she's counting.

"But is it really so terrible to want a fairy tale?" Riley asks. She knows no one is going to get her a white horse again. She knows The One isn't going to show up at her front door in a thunderstorm, rain-drenched, lightening flashing in time to the beat of her heart. "To strive for perfection?"

Maya makes fake-gagging noises. Riley frowns.

"It's more about knowing that love can be a positive force in your life, consuming but not all-consuming. Perfect for you doesn't mean actually perfect," Smackle offers. "You should never stop trying to get better or be better to each other. But you're doomed to fail if you don't see your lover--" Maya gags again. Smackle doesn't react. "--as human, just like you are. Rosalind is trying to prepare everyone to have a love that can last in the real world."

Riley chews on her bottom lip. She understands, but she still wants to believe someone can really make magic travel through her blood, sparking along her bones and settling in her chest. "Okay."

"She's in love, too, Riles," Maya says, tapping the back of her elbow reassuringly. 

"She's in love, too," Riley echos. Smackle nods, and Riley loves her eyes, and Lucas flashes through her mind. She's given him up. He was a romantic dead end, but she thinks maybe she's still waiting to find the thing she thought he represented. "I think I'm in mourning."

"Lucas? I'll beat Lucas up," Maya says, breezy, but with an undercurrent of seriousness. 

"He'd look _oooh_ with a black eye," Smackle says, her smirk a bit dirty. 

Maya shoots her a look that Riley can't quite categorize: defensiveness mixed with protection -- for Riley and her feelings, or for Lucas' pretty face, or both -- and a smudge of something like the dirt twisting through Smackle's lips. Whatever it is, Riley knows she's never felt it, and certainly not about Lucas.

 

 

Riley convinces Maya to run with her. Riley likes running. It improves her coordination problem, and she feels solid on her feet now. She likes the feel of her ponytail hitting between her shoulders, of the forward momentum. When she runs the world changes. When she runs she doesn't have to think or feel or stay the same. But mostly she has to run to keep up with the other girls on the cheerleading team. She's still the alternate's alternate, but Riley doesn't mind. She likes learning the routines and doing them as well as she can, even if that is not very well at all.

They stop by Topanga's for pastries after. 

Always.

Buying Maya a cinnamon roll for her efforts is the necessary convincing. 

Maya's crouched in front of the case, nose practically pressed against the glass. She's not drooling, per se, but Riley wouldn't rule it out. There's a drying sheen of sweat to her skin and a hair that fell out of her braid stuck awkwardly to her temple. Riley grabs at the strand and twists it around the braid before attempting to shove the end through Maya's elastic.

"I know I want a cinnamon roll," Maya says, wrapping her fingers around Riley's wrist and tugging her down. "That one," she says, pointing toward the back. It's not as round as the others, but there's more sugar on top. "But do I also want an eclair? A danish? A turnover?"

"You can have some of my baklava," Riley offers.

"Ew," Maya wrinkles her nose. "I don't like nuts."

"You eat peanut butter as a meal." Riley's calves ache, so she struggles to a standing position, pulling Maya up with her. 

"I mix in chocolate chips."

"You could add bananas, too. Like Elvis." 

"Are you trying to ruin my appetite? Because it won't work." Maya decides on a slice of blueberry coffee cake and a chocolate eclair, and Riley pays for all of it because she's a pushover who likes to watch Maya shove too much food in her mouth, crumbs sliding down her chin and onto the oversized shirt she bought to support Farkle's science club fundraiser.

"They should add hazelnuts to this," Riley says, licking at her bottom lip. "I could bring a jar of nutella and smear it over the top!" 

"You're going to go for a run carrying a jar of nutella?" Maya speaks with a full mouth, cream, chocolate and dough visible. 

"I could bring two. Like running with weights." She lifts her arms and flexes; Maya chokes around a laugh. Riley smiles, swinging her legs out -- her feet not quite reaching the ground is her favorite thing about the ridiculously high stools and this ridiculously high table. 

She's chewing on the last bit of her baklava when Smackle comes through the bakery doors. Riley waves her over. "Is it noon already?"

"Just after 10," Smackle says. "I thought I'd get a head start on my work. You are all very loud and distracting when we study together." 

Riley feels her smile both fall and stretch. "It's a study session for a class we all have together."

"I know." Smackle blinks and tugs her stack of books to her chest.

"Oh. Kay." Riley shakes her head and hops off her chair. Sometimes she can't quite figure Smackle out, and she thinks she likes that about her. It makes her want to wiggle her way deeper into Smackle's circle of trust, shimmy her way closer until she knows her like the back of her hand. Riley finds a table with a spare stool, asks to borrow it, and slides it over to Maya and Smackle, hearing the screech as it drags across the floor. 

"Thank you," Smackle says, smile drifting over her lips. She places her books on the table and places her hands flat, using them as leverage to jump onto the stool. 

"You can go somewhere else if we're going to distract you," Maya adds, pressing her thumb into the cinnamon sugar sprinkled around her first plate.

"I'm fine here." She looks back and forth between the two of them, posture straight and face neutral. 

"Fine." Maya shrugs and replaces her first plate with the second. "What were we- Oh! Val totally lost it over this guy at the game last night. Her eyes got all wide and wild, and she was ready to strip right there. I busted a gut laughing."

"There's a biological explanation for that," Smackle offers.

"Yeah, laughing," Maya says.

"Really?" Riley asks at the same time.

"Yes, for falling in love. There are still variables, but the basic chemical reactions have been tracked."

Riley rubs her lips together and leans forward. "Yeah?"

"Yes. There's typically an increase in adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin." 

"Like the fight or flight response?" Maya asks, digging her fork methodically into her coffee cake and making various bite-sized chunks. 

"The same chemicals are involved, yes."

"Maybe that's why I can't fall in love. I'm always fighting it and fleeing." 

"Maya," Riley starts. "Don't say that." 

"I'm kidding, Riles." Maya lifts her head and holds eye contact. It's defiant, like she's trying to prove a point. But Riley knows Maya well enough to know there's something else lurking there that hinders her argument. 

"But you always do this," she protests. "You always--"

"What about you?" Maya asks. 

"Me?" Riley feels her heart constrict and her throat go dry. If this is what love feels like, she's not sure what the hype is. It's terrifying and embarrassing and she really wants to excuse herself to the bathroom instead of looking at the accusatory tilt of Maya's head. "I dated Lucas for over a year! I tried to make it work! If by fight or flight you mean fought for love and a relationship then, yes. Me."

"Love?" Maya's voice has gone soft and scared. The color seems to have drained from her face. "You loved him? Do you still--"

"No," Riley admits. "Not like that. Like friends." Maya's forehead smooths out, and Riley turns to Smackle. Smackle's eyes are wide, and she's biting down on her lip like she's trying very hard not to say something. "What?" she asks, because Smackle's the smartest person she knows. Because she wants to know what Smackle does. 

"It's complex brain chemistry triggered by various stimuli. Try not to hurt your pretty little heads with a beyond basic understanding of it that, quite frankly, I'm not even sure you're grasping. I said one sentence." 

Riley blinks, breathes and swallows. Her stomach knots, but she feels a bit safer with Smackle looking at her with a raised brow. "You're right. All the sugar probably went to our heads. Can you explain that?"

Smackle's eyes sparkle, and her mouth upturns. "Yes."

Riley doesn't believe science can explain the way you feel about people. She doesn't believe why you love someone or not can be reduced to an increase in chemical X in your brain. A few weeks ago she might have found Smackle's explanation daunting, wondering if her own brain was unbalanced. Because she should have been able to love Lucas like a boyfriend. But she didn't, and she doesn't. And she thinks that's normal. Maybe her fight or flight response wasn't triggered, or there wasn't enough dopamine output, or Lucas wasn't the right stimuli. It's more comforting than anything. Her brain chemistry wasn't right for him, but she thinks it'll be right for someone else. And even though she can tell Maya tunes out of the science talk in the next minute, Riley listens, asking questions, feeling her stomach unfurl and her shoulders untense, Smackle's voice a song she could listen to on repeat. 

 

 

Riley sits at the bay window by herself, watching the lights of the city dance around like ballerinas. A flicker on, a flicker off, a flicker off, a flicker on. Her hair is wet from her warm bath and pulled into a loose ponytail on top of her head. She likes the smell of soap on her skin and the rubbery feeling of being clean. The bay window has always been hers and Maya's, so she contemplates Maya. The sunshine in her smile, the daisies in her hair, the butterflies in her fingers. Riley loves her, and Riley remembers the early stages of their friendship. She remembers a simpler time, her own feelings and how her perception of them was limited.

Things she believed, still believes, will always believe: Maya is beautiful, and her hair is soft, and Riley likes cuddling under the sheets with her during their sleepovers and running her fingers through said soft hair. Maya's warm, her internal body temperature a few degrees above Riley's. She's snuggly and always wrapping her arms around Riley without hesitation or discomfort. Natural. 

Riley figured it was normal: the warmth in her belly and the way the world lit up when Maya was around. The feeling faded and changed, and Riley didn't have the words for it then, a way to describe the way she had liked her then versus how she loves her now. 

She assumed Maya felt the same, always. She assumed her feelings were the feelings of friendship. No need to ask. 

It didn't help, Riley realizes, to hear the way her parents talk about Shawn and his relationship with her father. Mr. Cory. Best friends. It had skewed her perception further when everything around her was already normalizing the closeness of girls and the gospel of girls like boys. 

Riley realizes, with wet eyes and a quiet laugh escaping through her pulled-up mouth, that she had a crush.

Maya said Lucas was "really cute" that day on the subway. Riley agreed. 

She agrees, still. She likes his cheekbones, and his eyes are a nice, calming shade of blue.

But that day in seventh grade she remembers some lack, some hole in her stomach that should have be filled with butterflies and sunshine and sweaty palms. 

Riley has always been a problem-solver, so she filled the lack with enthusiasm. She agreed more vehemently with Maya than she felt because she thought she should. She swooned and sighed, and she followed the script of every romantic comedy she's ever seen. It had been nice, and Lucas had been so nice. Riley still likes the idea of a meet-cute, of two people falling into a fluffy, gooey love. But she overreacted, and she bought into her own overreaction.

She saw what "normal" was and parroted it. 

She was supposed to like Lucas, so she did. 

Riley laughs again, tracks a taxi making its way across the street, and wipes at her eyes. She cries, and she doesn't know if they're sad tears or happy tears, but the catharsis loosens something within her, and she presses her forehead against the window, focusing on the cool glass against her sticky skin. She thinks maybe they're tears of knowledge, of clarity and relief and another small morsel of understanding. 

 

 

She misses a GSA meeting because there's a big sale at an art supply store Maya really wants to attend, and Riley likes the awestruck wonder on her face when she runs her fingers down an actual canvas she's splurging on. It's in moments like that, with Maya's hair in curls, methodically remembering to take out Riley's additions to the basket she's carrying for her, that Riley thinks she could fall in love with Maya all over again. Like with Lucas, she could will it to be right. She could will it to be reciprocal and the stuff in her brain would just have to listen to her this time. Practice makes perfect. Lucas could be practice, and Maya could be perfect. 

After shopping, they split a cup of ice cream: one scoop mocha chip and one scoop strawberry. Riley idly thinks this could be a date, and it makes something seize up in her chest, both exciting and uncomfortable, and she trips on an uneven crack in the sidewalk, scraping a hole into her jeans and a bloody dime into her knee. Maya laughs before asking if she's okay. She wraps her arm around Riley, acting as if Riley broke her leg and needs to be helped home. Riley feels her closeness like always: a natural extension of herself. 

Her mom washes her cut, and Riley hobbles to the bay window with Maya. 

"How's the leg?" Maya asks after they've settled. 

Riley bends her knee a little. "Hurts."

"Ah, big baby, you'll be fine." Maya's tone edges toward condescending, but her smile is kind. 

"Remember how Lucas and I broke up?"

Maya stiffens and looks away, but Riley can see her watching from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. Farkle had a meltdown."

Riley laughs, and it catches in her throat. Farkle had been fussy about making sure Riley was okay after, offering to marathon romcoms and pick up whatever expensive ice cream she wanted. He invited her over to his room, laid out a pit of actual grass in the middle, topped with a checkered blanket and a picnic basket of fancy French orange soda, bread and chocolates. They had "star-gazed" and stared at Pluto until Riley's vision blurred. She wasn't too sad about the end of her relationship, but Farkle had been sad for her. And Riley appreciated it, kissing his cheek before leaving and promising him she'd love again. 

She clears her throat. "I mean, I know I said it was mutual, and it was."

When Maya looks at her, she frowns. "But?"

"No buts. Ands. Lots of ands." Riley looks down at her hands, folds them in her lap and twiddles her thumbs. "It didn't feel like I thought it would. Or should. I don't think it did for him, either. For different reasons though."

"What were yours?" Maya asks, voice strained and quiet. Riley told her about the breakup, told her the relationship felt stagnant and that they both agreed it'd be better for them to end things. Maya had looked at her with the softest and saddest and most scrutinizing eyes and asked if she was really okay, and Maya had believed her when she said she was. There had been no prying, and Riley had been grateful because she didn't know how to explain her confusion. She was embarrassed by it.

"I didn't feel like we were romantically compatible," she says, repeating the same line she fed Lucas. 

"Because he's a hee-haw and you're a princess?"

Riley gulps. Her hands feel clammy and she presses her palms tighter together. "He was a good boyfriend. And we compromised with the romance stuff, I guess. But I mean, we didn't really have a- a romantic spark."

"Sexual chemistry," Maya offers easily, but when Riley glances down, Maya's fingers are clutching at the seat so hard her knuckles turn ghostly. 

"Yeah. That. I mean, I don't think I've ever been ... interested in any guy that way?" Riley puts it out there in a rush, the words marbles in her mouth. Her entire body feels too warm and dehydrated.

"Really?" Maya asks. Her eyebrows shoot up toward her forehead. "Maybe you just have a low sex drive."

"Maybe," Riley whispers. "Maybe it's just that boys are so ..." She trails off and swallows a few times, willing her mouth to create more saliva. She wants Maya to just _get it_. She doesn't want to have to explain it. She doesn't want to say the words aloud. 

Maya's forehead wrinkles. "Gross?"

"Yeah."

"Ugh, I know." She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. "Like, I'd totally make out with Marcus because _hello_ , but I saw him stick his hands in his pants to itch himself the other day. That's not sanitary."

"Ew." Riley grimaces. 

"It can really dampen the appeal. I get it." 

She doesn't get it. 

At all. 

Riley nods, feeling further from Maya than she has in a long time. "I hope he washed his hands after class."

 

 

"You've got chocolate eyes," Dave says.

"What?" Riley laughs, "Oh, because they're brown."

Zay and Maya went off somewhere at least thirty minutes ago, probably to hustle some classmates in beer pong or get high, and Riley's got a sloshing half-full cup in her hand. She's had enough to drink that she feels light and spontaneous in a way that's a little to the left of her normal light and spontaneous, in a way that's a little more like Maya's version. Her stomach is warm and full, as if the alcohol is hot chocolate on a snowy day, and Dave is looking at her like she's made of glitter, or the way she feels after the Knicks win a game. 

"Yeah. But a really pretty brown," he assures, leaning close.

"Thanks." Riley beams up at him before taking a small sip of beer. She licks at the foam it leaves on her lip and watches his eyes follow the movement. 

She likes this feeling. It feels like he wants her in a way that Lucas never did. She leans in, too.

"You're welcome," he says, stumbling forward and catching himself with a hand on her elbow. It's a smooth move, and Riley suspects it wasn't entirely an accident. She giggles and flutters her eyelashes, and then he kisses her. 

She closes her eyes and focuses on the pressure of his lips against hers. He squeezes her elbow, and she kisses back tentatively. 

The next thing Riley feels is wetness against her cheeks, and she pull back, wiping at her face and fighting the tremble in her bottom lip trying to make itself known. "I'm sorry," she says, turning and pushing her way through the crowd. She hears him call: "Are you okay?" 

She's not.

She finds an empty bathroom, locking the door behind her and turning on the faucet. Her breathing has gone ragged with the force of her sobs, and she feels a phantom headache pounding behind her temple. Riley screws her eyes shut and tries to take slow, gulping breaths. She feels awful. She feels like a coward, and the urge to slap an excuse across this sparks in her gut, because the kiss was fine. It felt remarkably similar to kissing Lucas, even though Dave's lips were less dry, less thin. That same _nothing_ feeling cracks something in her chest. She thinks: they weren't the right guys. She only feels this way because she's not the type of person who likes to kiss just anyone. Kissing means something to her. She's tipsy and emotional and her period is next week, so it's probably PMS. 

And even though all of these things are true, she knows that's not why she's crying. She knows, like nibbling around an apple, that she's reached the core of it. 

She just doesn't like boys like that. 

So she cries for the person she thought she was, and the person she wanted to be, and the person she is. 

Riley splashes water on her face, sits on the toilet lid and breathes until Maya knocks on the door and threatens to ram through it. 

 

 

Smackle's hunched over a textbook bigger than Riley's head, ponytail over her left shoulder and dragging against the pages. Her mouth is set with faded lipgloss and her eyelashes are long. Riley looks at the quiet blend of neutral eye shadows on her lids, and she's struck by how beautiful Smackle is. Her next thought is: I wish I could blend my eye shadow that well, and the change is in the recognition of what she's doing. The rationalization of the thought. Smackle is beautiful, and Smackle can blend her eye shadow, and those things aren't causal. 

"Hey," Riley says, running her fingers along the back of the chair across the table and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Hello," Smackle says without looking up. Riley waits, and Smackle mouths along to the end of a sentence before using her index finger to mark her place. "How are you?"

"Good." Riley smiles. "Can I sit?"

"You may." There's a twinkle in her eye and the quick rise and fall of the corner of her mouth, a smirk almost like the shrug of a shoulder. 

"Are you studying? I don't want to interrupt." 

"No, I'm taking a break from pre-calc. This is some light reading." 

Riley can feel the bulge her eyes do as she glances at the book again, molecular structures spotting the pages. "For light reading, I usually stick to paperbacks from the grocery store."

Smackle laughs, and it feels so much louder in the library. She's not in the quiet section, but at the tables where people can get together for group projects. She's not breaking any rules, but a kid the next table over looks at her. Smackle doesn't stifle the sound or slap a hand over her mouth, and Riley knows if it had been her, she would have. She likes that Smackle doesn't care enough to be embarrassed. "I do like a good story about star-crossed lovers, too."

"Really?" Riley raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm a romantic." 

"Me too."

"You hide it well," Smackle says, sarcasm plain in a way that reminds Riley of Maya.

Riley feels her cheeks grow warm, and she curls her fingers in her lap. "I forgot that you were. I mean, you didn't give up on Farkle when you liked him."

"I didn't. I was pushy, but he had to come around on his own." She nods once and pushes at her glasses. 

"When you ended things," Riley starts and trails off. She knows the story they told about outgrowing each other and feeling like they had more to offer themselves apart. She knows the week after it ended there had been melancholy in Farkle's laugh and brittleness in his smile. She knows Farkle and Smackle still study together for tests and that any lingering awkwardness faded within two months. 

"Ask me," Smackle says. 

Riley worries her bottom lip and looks down at the table, the fake grain in the fake wood. "How did you know you outgrew each other? What did you feel?"

"I think we could feel it happening for a few months, or I could. He felt distant. He kissed me less, and his touch felt ... different. I don't know if it was really Farkle, or if it was actually me. When I aced an exam, I was less excited to tell him about it. And he was less excited to tell me things, too. I think it was cause and effect. I know he started feeling hurt when I'd say those things to Lucas or Amber or Matt. Hurt in a way he couldn't deal with anymore. But it's just who I am to say what I'm thinking and feeling, even though I've gotten better at reading social appropriateness." She says 'social appropriateness' with half an eye roll, and Riley smiles. "And it wasn't wrong that it upset him. But I realized that maybe it meant we weren't right for each other anymore." 

"You broke up with him." Riley feels sadness wedge between her ribs. 

"I did." She swallows and nods. "Farkle agreed it was the right course of action, though it was harder on him. You change when you grow, and you get to know yourself and what you need better."

"Thank you," Riley whispers. "You're brave."

"Not as brave as you are." Riley doesn't believe that, but Smackle reaches across the table and taps Riley's wrist with her fingers. It's a small gesture, but Riley can feel the empathy behind it, and it creates a lump in her throat. "Do you want me to read to you?" 

"Okay," Riley says. 

She knows Smackle intuitively understands.

 

 

Riley scrolls through the camera roll on her phone. There are three blurry pictures of a squirrel at the park, tail grey and bushy. There's the picture of the sunset she took from the roof, light pink fading to dark orange. There was a week a few months ago where she tried to watch the sun set every night, feel the breeze tangle through her hair and the heat fade from the pavement where she sat. It was easier when Maya or Farkle were around to drag up with her, that way she'd have to focus and let out soft sighs. She took Lucas once, and it had been nice but mired in a heavy platonic haze when she was still desperately longing for romance. She learned that sometimes catching the beauty of it haphazardly is better than scheduling it. 

"I'm so tired," Maya huffs, folding herself down next to Riley on the floor and letting her head loll against Riley's shoulder. 

"What happened, peaches?" Riley asks, reaching up to pat her palm affectionately against Maya's cheek. "I thought you were going to sleep before 11?" 

"My brain happened." She sticks her bottom lip out, and Riley mimics the expression. "Did you know Lee Krasner didn't want to take credit for some of her work because when she did everyone related it back to Pollock? Did you know only four women have had retrospective shows at the MoMA?"

"I did not." 

"I read it on Wikipedia, because I'm a fake hack with no talent who doesn't know anything about anything." 

Maya shifts until her head is in Riley's lap, and Riley runs her hand through her hair, tugging gently when she hits a snag. "Shhh. You are my favorite artist in the whole world. And when you die in 100 years -- on the day after me --"

"The hour after you, Morotia," Maya interrupts. 

"Fine. You'll get a retrospective and a permanent MoMA exhibit." She spots Zay and Lucas coming round the bend toward their spot of hallway and waves. "And everyone will be almost as proud of you as I am."

"I want to be appreciated in my own time," Maya whines. "But mostly I just want to take a nap."

"You've got a solid ten minutes," Zay says, dropping his books loudly next to Riley's knee and Maya's ear. She groans and punches at his ankle. 

"I got three hours of sleep. Don't test me." 

Zay swings his foot back and then forward, like he's lining up a kick to Maya's stomach. "You're not good at tests even on 10 hours."

"Shut up." Maya grabs his ankle and pulls him down. 

"I have a protein bar in my locker if you want it," Lucas offers, forehead scrunched and hands shoved into his front pockets.

"Maybe later," Maya mumbles, waving her hand around in his general direction. Her eyes are closed and she hugs her arms to her chest. Riley smiles and scratches at the base of Maya's skull. She likes Maya like this, sleepy and light and not unlike a dog or cat that needs to be itched behind the ear. 

Zay rips the edges off a piece of notebook paper he tore from his spiral, careful to collect them into a pile he can pick up before heading to class. Lucas sits next to him and nods at Riley.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi." 

Things were awkward between them the first time they hung out after the break up, but once they settled back into being just friends the unease dissipated. They're good at being friends. They're better at it, really. He can text her about a bad day at practice, and she'll call and remind him of the home run he hit, soaring over the fence and into the blue. When Maya is being overly cynical or Farkle has bogged her down in science jargon, he'll agree with whatever light and airy improbable thing she says. They are good at building each other up, and they are good at supporting each other, but Riley realizes they weren't so good at dealing with the places they diverge, at the messy bits of each other. 

"Coach cancelled practice today, and I was thinking we could go to Topanga's to go over anthropology?" 

"Oh." Riley bites her lip and slides her gaze to Zay. She feels the breath she takes expand in her lungs. "Actually, I'm going to the GSA meeting."

She feels Maya shift against her knee, and she can see Zay lift his head to look at her. Lucas presses his mouth together and nods. Riley can feel and see everything clearer, the words heightening something in her blood. She wants to see if there's recognition on Lucas' face. There's no surprise, but there's also no judgment. "Oh, that's cool. Saturday afternoon, then?"

"Definitely. I already have some ideas." She breathes against the heartbeat racing in her chest, unable to decide if she wants him to just know without her having to say anything. She feels so contradictory: trapped between fearing everyone realizes she's not straight and longing for them to have that knowledge hardwired into their brains without her speaking a word about it.

 

 

The meeting goes well, and Riley feels less like a deer caught in headlights. 

They plan a bake sale after winter break to raise funds for Trinity Place, and Riley signs up to run the table before school the second Monday back. She likes the feeling of _doing_ , always has, at least when it comes to giving back. It helps her step back from the thoughts constantly swarming her brain, from the plans she's always hatching that feel self-involved, even if said plan is actually about Maya. Volunteering makes her feel small in a good way. 

A girl talks about her best friend coming out to her, and Riley listens with a fluttering stomach. "I think I knew," the girl says. "She was always more into female pop singers than the boy bands I was in love with. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but. I don't know. I expected to feel more surprised than I did? She said she expected more shock." 

Riley swallows, elbow propped up on a desk and chin in hand. She doesn't ask all the things she wants to know, quiz the girl on all the signs that only seem clear in retrospect. Riley can't think of any for herself. She can't pinpoint a clear and precise incident anyone could point to and _know_. It's her ability to boil her emotions and reactions down to other things: insecurity, friendship, her personality. Riley thinks maybe her personality just likes girls. She wonders if that's what being gay is. 

She blinks and feels dizzy. 

It's the first time she's associated the word gay with herself and really, truly meant it. The association feels big and strange, and her hands feel dry. Her palm scratches against her cheek, and the air ballooning her stomach as she breathes becomes a log in her gut. 

Riley wants to go home, look in her mirror and say the word aloud. 

This time, though, she takes Zay and Smackle up on their snack offer. 

She doesn't know if she's prolonging the inevitable, or being nice, or if she's really craving the sweet potato fries and honey mustard she loves without Maya sitting next to her pretending to vomit. Smackle and Zay slide into the other side of the booth and split a gigantic order of nachos. They have a weird rapport that Riley likes. It's fun and teasing, and when Smackle smacks Zay's hand and tells him to stay on his side of the plate or else he's paying for the entire order, Zay balks and tells her it's not the 50s. 

"If this were the 50s, we would not be allowed in the same section of the restaurant," Smackle says, pulling a cheese-coated chip from the pile. 

"Too true." Zay shakes his head solemnly. "I'll keep to my side of the plate even though you have more tomato."

"Thank you, Isiah." 

"Even though splitting the plate in half this way could be a discriminatory metaphor," Zay adds.

Smackle rolls her eyes and sighs, and Riley presses down around the smile her mouth attempts. 

"So, you two gonna help me bake?" Zay asks.

"What?" Riley dips a fry into the cup of sauce and watches it bend with the weight.

"I'll teach you how to make Oreo-stuffed chocolate chunk cookies." 

"Oh my gosh." Riley feels her stomach roll in anticipation before folding the entire fry into her mouth. "Please."

"You do know most people are just going to buy cookies from the store, right?" Smackle asks. 

"Well, I'm not most people. I have a natural gift for baking, and I intend to use it to help people." Zay shrugs and uses the chip in his hand to scrape at a glob of nacho cheese. He's genuine, and Riley thinks maybe he's the best of them. There was a lifetime ago when she disliked what he represented: a part of Lucas that Lucas had hid from her, a part of Lucas that didn't fit into her fantasy of him. But he's so much more than that, and he's got an honest heart. Riley's trying to have an honest heart, too. 

"How long have you two been part of GSA?" she asks during a break in conversation. 

"March of freshman year," Smackle says.

"Beginning of freshman year," Zay says. 

"Really?" Riley crosses her ankles and straightens her back. "How come you never told us about it?"

Zay frowns. "I didn't hide it. I was going for me. It's not like you want to go to science club with Farkle and Smackle, or art club with Maya."

"I got kicked out of art club," Riley frowns. "Kind of." 

"I'd watch Lucas run the bases at practice every day," Smackle says. "And I'd let him run my bases after."

Riley chokes on her fry, and Zay laughs. "I'm just saying, we don't all have the same stuff we want to do. And going to GSA was helping me help myself. I told people I was going if they asked, and if they didn't," Zay pauses and shrugs, "Who cares."

"You don't care about what anyone thinks of you?" 

Riley cares what _everyone_ thinks about her. She wants everyone to like her, even the jerks and bullies. She knows not everyone is worth her faith and friendship, but she still always wants to offer the olive branch and give them a chance. She's just learning that sometimes people don't deserve infinite opportunities. But it's still hard. And she still struggles with the feeling of being enough. 

"I do, but what I think of me matters a lot more to me than what nail-biter Randy thinks. And anyone who judges me for who I am can fuck themselves."

"Amen," Smackle adds. She pulls a jalapeno from a nacho and pops it into her mouth. Riley watches her lick at a string of cheese on her lip before wiping at her own. 

"But what if your parents don't approve?"

Riley knows that her parents and Auggie love her and will support her no matter who she loves. She knows Maya will, too. And she knows that's all that matters at the end of the day. But there's something different in the vagueness of them not knowing yet and the concrete reality of telling them, of their reactions being real instead of extrapolated from what she knows about them, like her parents smiling at two men holding their child on the subway, or Maya saying she'd make out with Keke Palmer while watching _Scream Queens_. Riley doesn't want this to change how they see her and feel about her, but it's fundamentally altered how she feels about herself. 

"Fuck them," Smackle offers.

"Riley," Zay says, shooting Smackle a disproving look. "Your parents love you for who you are, whether they know exactly who you are or not. But if they didn't, it would really suck. And you'd have to decide where to go from there. But I can tell you that not accepting yourself, no matter what you choose to do with it, hurts you. Bad things happen when you don't know who you are."

Riley groans. "Stop trying to be my dad."

"Sometimes your old man knows what he's talking about." Zay smiles, soft and kind.

"Thank you." Riley smiles back. "I love you both for exactly who you are."

"And we love you for who you are," Zay says. 

Riley believes him. Smackle nods, nudging the plate of nachos toward her. Riley believes her, too. 

And she knows they know. 

It feels a lot like the drop of a rollercoaster, wind blowing through her hair and chapping her face, the sound of her half-terrified but mostly ecstatic scream at the moment she's been anticipating. Riley wants to throw her hands into the air and shout, but instead she takes a nacho and says: "Thank you."

 

 

Riley sets her feet flat against the ground and folds her hands in her lap. There's a rock in her stomach, and her chest feels tight. She looks at Maya, at the gentle curve of her hair around her soft face. Maya's eyes are narrowed, knees open and mouth pursed. Riley wants to remember what Maya looks like before. She wants to be able to register even the most acute change. 

"Riley," Maya starts slowly. Her eyes flicker around Riley's face, a hint of amusement in the arch of her brow. "Why are you acting like you killed someone?"

"I didn't!" Riley shakes her head quickly, and Maya's smile pops up comfortably. "I just need to tell you something."

"You've said."

Riley inhales and looks outside. The sun has almost set, and the sky is an inky mixture of purple and blue and black. The buildings and headlights from cars passing below light up the scape, and she brushes at her forehead. She wants this to go well, but she hasn't been able to figure what that means to her. She feels like she's about to cut herself open and show Maya her insides. Maya has done that for her so many times, and while this moment is about Riley, Riley also wants it to be about the two of them. Riley wants owning who she is to make her relationship with Maya stronger.

"Riley," Maya hedges. 

"You're my safe place," Riley says. She turns to look at Maya. Her eyes are kind. Riley loves her. "You will always be my best friend, and I trust you."

"If you did kill someone, I will visit you in prison. I mean, I always thought it'd be me who committed murder, but."

Riley smiles and feels her eyes well up. "It's nothing like that."

Maya grabs her hands and squeezes. Her eyebrows wrinkle and she frowns. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Yes." Riley pulls her hands back, scrubbing at her eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry."

"I'm gay." She closes her eyes and wipes at the stickiness on her lashes. The rock in her stomach grows, and she wishes this moment was more about the way she feels than Maya's reaction, but Riley doesn't know how she feels. How she feels is inextricably linked to Maya's reaction.

"Okay," Maya says.

"Okay." Riley opens her eyes, and Maya's smiling. 

"Thank you." Maya scooches over, wraps her arms around Riley and rests her chin on Riley's shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Riley wraps her hands around Maya's forearms and leans her head against Maya's. 

There are so many things Riley wants to say now. She wants to ask Maya if she knew or suspected. She wants to apologize for not telling Maya the moment she began questioning her sexuality, because with Maya holding her and their cheeks pressed together, she feels supported. She thinks it would have been easier if she had. Riley doesn't do any of these things because they feel out of place and because they don't matter. They're details her brain wants to focus on instead of the way she feels: relieved and loved and vulnerable. 

"Am I different now?" Riley asks into the silence of the room. 

"No." Maya lets go, and Riley studies her face again. Her eyelashes are curled with mascara and her lipstick has faded. She's beautiful, and her eyes are still soft and kind. For all her talk about being cynical and sharp, Maya is one of the softest and kindest people Riley knows. "You're still you. How do you feel?"

"Good." Riley inhales. "Scared."

"Of what?"

"Being me."

Maya presses her mouth into a thin line and tilts her head. "Okay."

"Okay?" Riley raises an eyebrow. "Maya, how is that okay?"

"I used to think I was the only person who didn't want to be themselves sometimes. But you told me once that you wanted to be like me when all I wanted was to be like you. Farkle changed. Lucas has been searching for a balance between who he wants to be and who he was for years. I have no idea what you're feeling or what this is like for you, Riley. But I think being scared of being yourself is ... what did Mrs. Seton say? Part of the human ... commission?"

Riley laughs beyond the tears still making themselves known in her throat. "The human condition."

"Yeah, that."

"You're pretty smart, Maya." Riley wipes at her eyes again.

She feels lucky. And as Maya takes her out for ice cream, two scoops that they split -- one mocha chip and one strawberry -- everything feels normal. The weight of the confession leaves her shoulders minute by minute. Maya helps Riley study for the Spanish final, and Riley helps Maya study for history, and when Maya points out a cute boy who walks into Topanga's, Riley smiles and says: "He has nice hair."

"He does, doesn't he?" Maya whines. "God, it's disgusting."

"You want me to be your wing woman?" Riley asks, setting her pencil down and feeling it roll into the crack where the binding of her history book comes together. 

"No thanks." Maya shakes her head. "He's not my type."

"Yeah." Riley feels the joke on her tongue, and she almost doesn't say it: "Me either."

Maya's grin is so bright Riley squints against it. "Smartass," she mumbles. 

"I learned from the best." Riley beams, and she feels more like herself than she thinks she ever has. 

 

 

Riley pushes her copy of _Antigone_ away, pulling _As You Like It_ closer. The study guide for the final is thorough: tips on what themes to review, passages to reread and become familiar with, all the possible essay questions their teacher will pull from when assembling the test. Riley doesn't know if it's better than the lists of words she received on her science study guide, but it's definitely a lot more friendly than the huge packet of questions she has to solve for geometry. 

"Explain the ways in which _As You Like It_ is a piece of pastoral and romance literature. What criticisms of society do these literary traditions allow Shakespeare to make?" Riley mumbles. "Choose a relationship in _As You Like It_ and explain what its portrayal says about love and gender." 

She blinks. It feels like an overwhelming amount of work, and for a moment Riley thinks about skipping the essay questions and hoping the other three she's covered will be the ones Mrs. Seton chooses. But she stretches her spine, pulls herself together and writes a new heading in her notebook. She still has Smackle's colored post-it notes sticking out of the book, making it easier to identify passages that reference city life, country life and love. She's almost done making notes to answer the first question when she spots Smackle purchasing a smoothie at the counter. Waving her hands around ridiculously, she catches Smackle's attention and calls her over. 

"Hey." Riley smiles. "I was just going through the romance and tragedy study guide."

"Where's Maya?"

"Oh, she blew me off. She said she had to help her mom and Shawn clean the apartment, but she's probably eating junk food and watching Netflix." 

"She really needs your help with that." Smackle points to the study guide. "She probably thinks hubris is a bone in her arm."

Riley bites at the corner of her mouth. "She definitely does. But it'll be easier to go over with her once I've got it all sorted out myself."

"You're a good friend, Riley." Smackle takes a sip of her smoothie, ignoring the straw completely so she has to lick at her top lip after.

"We can finish it together?" Riley suggests. Smackle brings the hand not holding her drink up to fidget with one of her backpack straps. "Unless you have something else to do, I mean." 

"I already finished it." Smackle sets her smoothie down on the table and pulls back the other chair. "But I can spare a few minutes before I start my pre-calculus packet."

"Cool." Riley fights against the urge to grin and curls her body forward over the table. "What kind of smoothie did you get?"

"You need to focus on the task at hand," Smackle scolds, but then: "Peach mango." 

"Sorry." Riley's face feels warm and she pulls the sleeves of her sweater down over her palms. She wants to compliment Smackle's maroon cardigan, but she doesn't. She can totally focus on her study guide and not the shell of Smackle's ear.

"What question were you on?" Smackle wraps her lips around her straw this time. 

"The one about love and gender in _As You Like It._ "

"That one will probably be on the test because we didn't discuss it thoroughly in class." Smackle leans forward and reads the question from Riley's paper. "What are your ideas?"

"I think I'll do Rosalind and Orlando?"

"Okay." Smackle nods and settles back in her chair. There's something demanding about her posture, straight and sure. She has one hand curled around the base of her smoothie and the other flat against the table. There's a rigidity that would seem uncomfortable on anyone else, but that Riley likes on Smackle. 

Riley waits an extra beat before realizing Smackle wants her to continue. It's different from the way Farkle studies with her. Farkle always knows best, and Riley knows he believes in her and her intelligence, but he's more willing to simply hand out the answer and then some, edifying like a professor giving a lecture. Half the time Riley has to nudge his hand and ask him to let her clarify his points in her own words. Smackle waits, unwilling to give her an answer or let her take the easy way out. Riley straightens her spine in response. "It's ... important to discuss their interactions when she's Ganymede? Because ... it will be easier to include the gender part of the question?"

"Exactly." Smackle's smile is just a twist, but pride swells in Riley's gut. 

Smackle helps her flip through her book to find passages, hauling her chair around the table. They take parts and reread them aloud, Smackle's delivery of Shakespeare natural and conversational whereas it feels like clunky poetry on Riley's tongue. Their arms end up pressed together, and Riley feels it all over, feels the way Smackle's hand brushes against hers when she turns the page and then grabs the paperback, cracking the spine so it'll stay open easier. It's warm and makes her mildly self-conscious, but not in a bad way, just aware of her body and her nerve-endings. 

"Orlando is kind of like ... he enjoys the idea of acting out his relationship to Rosalind with Rosalind when she's Ganymede? Even though he thinks Ganymede is actually a boy?" Riley can feel her face flush as she speaks. 

"Yes. There's fluidity of gender and sexuality," Smackle agrees. Her eyes are alight, and Riley wonders if that's how learning makes her feel all the time. She always thought of Smackle as someone who loved being the smartest person in the room, but she never figured she loved the process as much as she does. She doesn't tutor like Farkle, but Riley thinks she should. 

"But he's straight?" 

"No. It's not about labeling the characters. The point is the fluidity. Romance and intimacy between people of the same gender and different genders don't exist as a dichotomy in the play. It's more complex than that. There's also an argument to be made more specifically about Rosalind's cross-dressing and the performance of gender itself, but that's outside the scope of the question."

Riley blinks and attempts to process, but she feels herself grin. "That's the Smackle I know."

"What?" Smackle's brow furrows, and she shifts so she's sitting sideways in her chair. 

"It's good. You're so smart."

"Oh. Okay. Thank you." There's still confusion in the tilt of her head. 

"Assertive in your smartness," Riley clarifies. If Riley could think of anything she was good at in the way Smackle and Farkle are at school or Maya is at art, she'd want to be assertive about it, too.

"Okay." Smackle frowns like she doesn't understand what Riley is trying to say, and Riley finds herself smiling even wider at the divots between her eyebrows. 

"So, what you're saying is there are homosexual undertones, but the point is that they can coexist with the straight relationships in the text?" Riley asks. 

Smackle tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and Riley wants to compare the curve of it to the curve of her left one. "Essentially. Be sure not to make them seem like mutually exclusive ideas."

Even a month ago, Riley knows she would have clung to this thought like camouflage. She would have used it to brush aside her thoughts and feelings and assert some sort of attraction to boys she doesn't feel. But Riley's more comfortable with herself now, with the knowledge that Maya knows and loves her and nothing has changed except she feels freer and safer. She feels more settled in who she is, like when she got used to her limbs after her growth spurt. She wants to ask Smackle if that's how Smackle feels, at home and fluid in her attraction to both men and women, but she doesn't want to overstep or assume. "Nothing is mutually exclusive," Riley says. "Everything informs everything else."

 

 

After the holidays and before spring semester starts, their group attends a party hosted by one of the seniors on the baseball team. There's a thin layer of gray slush on the ground from the last snowfall, and Riley's got a scarf wrapped snugly around her neck and suede boots she received for Christmas on her feet. She fights the chatter in her teeth when the wind blows, elbow linked with Maya's as they follow Farkle and Lucas to the apartment building. Zay's at Riley's other elbow, regaling them with a story about his and Lucas' holiday in Texas: "So, because Lucas is a dumbass, he lets Uncle Earle challenge him to a drinking contest."

"This is amazing," Maya says with that mixture of awed amusement that always makes Riley feel a little concerned. 

"And you know what?"

"Uncle Earle can't hold a single beer and no one got sick?" Riley hopes. 

Zay laughs, a deep and scary laugh that makes Maya tug excitedly on Riley's arm. "Uncle Earle regularly chugs moonshine, sweetheart. Lucas didn't have a chance. But he's stubborn as anything, and before Uncle Earle was even tipsy, Lucas fell out of his chair and hit his chin against the table on the way down. You can probably still see the bruise if you look for it."

"Oh my gosh." Riley inhales and her heart clenches.

"Oh my god," Maya laughs. 

"He's fine," Zay says, nudging at Riley with his elbow. "And there wasn't a better comedy show anywhere in the good ol' US of A."

"I wish I had been there," Maya says with a smile on her mouth and longing brightness in her eyes. 

"That's reckless behavior that you should not engage in!" Riley calls toward Lucas. 

"I know!" Lucas calls back. 

"Show me your bruise!" Maya yells.

"No!"

"Come on, cowboy. Scars are rugged and manly." Maya pulls her arm free from Riley's and skips forward, shoving her way between Farkle and Lucas and poking at Lucas' face. He sighs in that exasperated way of his that he only half means, halfheartedly batting Maya's finger away. Maya laughs and Lucas smiles, curling his fingers around her wrist and making a big show about placing her hand by her side. 

"Get a room!" Zay shouts. 

Riley watches and chews at the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you guys had fun."

"We did," Zay agrees. "But from what I can tell, you had a good time here, too."

"I did." Riley curls her hands further into her coat pockets. Her entire family coalesced into their apartment for Christmas, and Riley knitted everyone a scarf. Uncle Eric wore his the rest of the entire 48 hours he was there, even though it couldn't have been comfortable with the heater going full blast. Maya came over to drink hot chocolate on Christmas Eve and "show off how good I look to Uncle Boing." Riley had reminded her they'd both moved on and that Josh had a girlfriend, and Maya had insisted that nonetheless, she looked really hot. Riley snuggled with her family on the sofa and watched "The Year Without a Santa Claus," cried and only got teased a little bit. 

And after her grandparents, uncles and aunt had cleared out, and after the apartment felt quiet and empty, she came out to her parents. Her father gave her a hug, kissed her temple and told her she'd always be his little girl. Her mother told her that she loved her no matter what and that they were very proud of her. She cried, and so did her parents, and then they'd broken out the rocky road ice cream and shared a big bowl. Riley didn't realize coming out meant she got to eat as much ice cream as she wanted, but it's an unexpected perk threading together both of her experiences.

When they arrive at the party, Riley pours herself a cup of root beer and reminds everyone not to leave their drink unintended. "Stick with a buddy at all times," she says, but Zay's already heading off by himself. 

Farkle looks up from his phone. "Smackle's here. We need to go meet her at the door."

"Okay, but I'm going to go whoop some ass at beer pong," Maya says before shooting Riley a look. "Come on, buddy."

"Let's just find Smackle first. Zay's already somewhere without a buddy, and I don't want us to get too separated."

Maya pouts, and Riley shakes her head. "Okay, but there was definitely a line, and--"

"Lucas, can you please escort Maya to beer pong?" Riley asks with an eye roll. 

Lucas meets Riley's eye, and Riley can't shake the feeling that he's asking for permission, a soft arch in his eyebrow. She smiles and nods, focuses on the feeling of letting go and moving on, on the lack of churning and hurt in her gut. He smiles back before turning to Maya and holding out his elbow. "Alright, Ma'am."

"I hate you," Maya groans in that faux-angry way she only uses with Lucas, grabbing his arm and leading him away. 

Riley and Farkle find Smackle leaning against a wall in the front hallway, half-obscured by a coat rack. 

"Hey," Farkle greets, and Smackle looks up from her phone. 

"Farkle." Smackle holds out her hand and Farkle shakes it, his smile slowly mirroring itself in her own expression. 

"We're glad you made it," Riley interjects. She normally holds open her arms for a hug and lets Smackle dictate the interaction from there, but this time she simply extends her hand. 

Smackle looks between Riley's hand and her face before clasping their palms together and shaking. Her skin is soft and warm against Riley's, and Riley itches to rub the pad of her thumb against Smackle's knuckles. "I wouldn't want to miss out on this cliché high school experience. Where's everyone else?"

"Zay ran away as soon as we arrived, and Maya and Lucas are guarding the beer pong table for us," Riley answers. She feels the loss when Smackle drops her hand.

"Let's get you a drink before we meet up with them," Farkle says, nodding his head back toward the kitchen. "They had bottles of water."

"I'm okay right now." Smackle unclasps the small purse slung across her body and slides her phone inside before clipping it shut. "Let's just go to beer pong."

Farkle grabs Riley's hand to lead the way, and it's not the first time either of them have tugged the other around. But this time it's impossible for Riley not to compare the feel of his hand in hers versus Smackle's. Farkle's hand envelops, and it's not like his hand is rough or dry, but the softness feels different against her skin in a way she can't explain. There's nothing definitive about the difference except for the way Riley felt her heartbeat, and Riley doesn't trust that.

When they arrive at the ping pong table littered with solo cups, Maya and Lucas are nowhere in sight, but Zay bounces a ball against the table. It misses a cup and rolls toward Smackle's feet. She picks it up and throws it back, sinking it into a cup on Zay's side. He quirks an eyebrow before taking a pull of his beer. "After Darby kicks my butt, it's on, girl."

"You're going down," Smackle says.

Darby destroys Zay, throws her fist into the air and shrieks in victory. Riley curls away from the sound and bumps into a laughing Smackle. She watches as Yogi kisses Darby, it's quick and dirty and Riley feels it gnawing in her stomach. Darby claps Zay on the shoulder, says something that Riley can't hear but causes Zay's eyes to crinkle. He shakes his head and playfully punches her shoulder. Riley's acutely aware of her status as observer, of the small number of students huddled in various groups around the room half-watching the game and the table. She's spent so much of her life being the center of attention in her father's history class, has reveled in it and felt at home there, but the feeling of being the watcher instead of the watched makes her shift on the balls of her feet and cross her arms over her chest.

"Boys versus girls?" Riley suggests when Darby and Yogi have wrapped their arms around each other and wandered off. 

"You're sticking me with Zay?" Farkle balks. 

"Hey!" Zay protests. And then, with a defeated shake of his head: "Yeah, they're not even giving us a fighting chance."

"It's not our fault girls are the superior sex." Smackle flips her hair over her shoulder.

Riley grins. "Girls rule and boys drool."

"Very mature." Zay pouts before grabbing Farkle's arm and pulling him around to the other side of the table. 

As it turns out, Riley's level of hand-eye coordination falls somewhere between Zay's and Farkle's, but for her part, Smackle sinks almost every shot she attempts. Riley claps each time the ball swirls around the cup and obnoxiously hollers any three words she can think of: "Drink up, losers!" or "Yeah, take that!" or "You're going down!" Smackle has an ounce more sportsmanship, rolling her shoulders back, smug smirk gracing her lips along with a well-timed eyebrow wiggle. Riley likes that: an oozing, well-earned arrogant confidence that she feels spark up and down her spine. 

She bites her lip and shakes her head, turning to watch Zay take his shot. This time, the ball goes into the red solo cup in the center of their triangle. "Nah nah nah nah nah," he sings, swirling his hips and waving his finger around. "Take a drink, Iz."

Smackle reaches over the table, removing the cup and adding it to the stack on the ground. "I don't have a drink," she says plainly. 

"Here," Riley answers, holding out her cup. Smackle eyes it warily. "It's only root beer." 

"You're not even drinking?" Zay gasps and throws his palm over his heart. "Cheaters."

Smackle rolls her eyes. "Thanks." She takes the proffered cup and sips a little before handing it back to Riley. Their fingers brush, and Riley grips the plastic tighter. She'd like to touch Smackle's hand more, just to see what it's like. She wants to understand what makes her skin soft and how Smackle's knuckles would feel with the courage to actually brush against them with her thumb. She wants to press their palms together and find out whose hand is larger. She wants to know how their fingers would feel slotted together, how it compares to the largeness of Farkle's hand, the roughness of Lucas', the familiarity of Maya's.

It's a lot to have swirling inside her, and she gulps almost all of the root beer in her cup to make it stop. 

When Smackle throws the winning shot, Riley's "Yay" is so loud and high-pitched she can feel it pinging inside her own head. She lunges toward Smackle, feels Smackle stumble with the force of it, and wraps her in a hug. Smackle stiffens. "You're so amazing," Riley says. She squeezes and then loosens her grip. Before Riley's brain catches up and she thinks about letting go and apologizing, Smackle winds her arms around her. Riley feels the warm breath of Smackle's laugh against her ear, and her stomach somersaults.

"I've gotten better at the hugging thing, right?" Smackle says after breaking apart. 

"You have." 

Riley swallows, brushes a phantom strand of hair away from her temple and raises her cup. "I think I need more root beer."

 

 

During half-time of the Nets-Raptors game, her father leaves the room to take a call from Mr. Turner and Auggie packs a sandwich bag with popcorn before wandering away. He's never been into basketball, but luckily Riley was able to inundate him with a devotion to the Knicks. It leaves Riley and Lucas on the couch, her legs crossed in pretzel position and the bowl of popcorn in her lap. There's a commercial for men's deodorant that she half wants to talk about because it's _ridiculous_ , but when she turns her head to look at Lucas, she stops. 

He's wearing the Knicks shirt she bought him, one hand resting against the sofa's arm and the other over his knee, legs spread in that way men like, taking up space. He's a good guy, and he's a good friend, and she feels it sharply in her chest, a flash of pain that makes her wince. 

"I'll be right back," she says, shoving the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table and jogging to her room. 

She returns with a basket filled with about five of Lucas' shoes and smiles sheepishly, setting it down by his side of couch. "Here. You should take these home with you. I'm sorry I kept them so long."

"Okay." His brow furrows and he leans forward, shuffling through the small pile. "I forgot you had these."

"Yeah. I don't know--" Riley runs a hand through her hair and rocks back and forth on her heels. "I guess I wasn't ready to give them back before."

"Thanks." He nods up at her, and his eyes are kind. 

"You're welcome." Riley nods once, hesitant and unsure, before repeating the motion. She rubs at the knob of bone in her wrist and awkwardly shuffles between the sofa and the coffee table, retaking her place, still warm from when she left it. She blinks and tries to focus on Kenny Atkinson, but she feels half-truths storming in her stomach, so she turns to Lucas again. "Lucas?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you were my boyfriend."

"Oh." His eyes go wide, fingers tapping against his knee. "Yeah. You were a really great first girlfriend, Riley. I'll always cherish the time we were together, but I don't think we should go down that road--"

"I don't want to get back together," she rushes, waving her arms in his direction.

"Okay." His shoulders sag forward, and his mouth turns down in confusion. 

"I just feel like you really respected me, you know? And you never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do." Riley thinks maybe it boils down to Lucas not feeling that spark either, but she can imagine all the ways other boys would have demanded more and used her in ways that make her stomach roll. She had wanted so badly to make things work with Lucas, and they tried for so long that Riley knows if he had asked and asked and asked, she might have given up and given in. She wanted normalcy and would have done just about anything to achieve it. 

"I would never--"

"I know," she cuts him off again and then laughs. "Sorry. I just. I want to let you know our relationship was really special to me. It wasn't what I thought it would be, but it was good. Don't you think?"

"I do." 

"I need to apologize for not always being honest with you about the way I was feeling."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he says, fully turning his body toward her, eyes genuine and concerned. 

"I think I do." Riley swallows and rubs her palms against her leggings. "I think I held on too tightly for a while because I knew it wasn't right, and I thought I could will it into working out. I think I knew you weren't happy, and I just, held on tighter. I was comfortable with you and refused to let go."

"If I wasn't happy -- and that was never the case -- and I stayed, that's on me. I think we both stayed in it longer than we knew we should. I thought it was the right thing to do. That I owed it to you, and that we were supposed to be together, even if I didn't feel that."

"Yeah." Riley wipes at her eyes. She's not crying, but she feels like she could be. "I know. But you were good for me, and I feel like I wasn't good for you."

"You were," he says. And Riley is suddenly aware that he makes no move to touch her, run his hand down her arm, nudge her knee, tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She doesn't mind, and she understands that it has nothing to do with him being uncomfortable with her, but she knows when they had been dating, she would have wanted him to. She would have filed this under "strange boyfriend non-behavior" and wondered if she wanted the touch because he was her boyfriend, she simply likes physical reassurance, or because she was supposed to want it. "I learned a lot about myself from you. I still do, Riley. I don't regret our time together."

"It sounds like someone died," she says. 

Lucas' smile crinkles around his eyes and he looks down. "Maybe something did."

"That's so sad." Riley frowns, but she doesn't feel an ache in her heart. She hates that this is how life works, but she's made her peace with it. She thinks maybe it's like mulch, the old flowers ground up and churned into the soil to breed new ones. "I think this is the best conversation we've ever had."

"I think so, too."

Riley smiles, lets herself settle into the honest and grown up feeling sprouting in her chest, the roots wrapping around her arteries and taking hold. 

 

 

The weather has cheered up, and Riley feels it in the extra hop and skip in her step. It's not quite warm out yet, but she sees spring peeping through her curtains in the morning. It's her favorite time of year, and she doesn't care if she thinks that when each season changes. Right now it's the bursts of life in nature mirroring themselves in the city, the hustle on the streets becoming less huddles of warmth pushing against the wind and more confident, breezy strides forward. It's the possibility of the seasons changing she likes, the newness paired with the comfort that comes from repetition. The warmth those first few weeks of summer before the heat turns humid and unbearable. The chill of fall when the trees become a sunset and everything smells of cinnamon. The fluff of freshly fallen snow and the twinkle of Christmas lights. She likes all of those things, but right now it's spring, so right now nothing feels more important. 

Maya's mom calls her out for a college visit, and Riley almost misses waxing poetic about the lack of cloud coverage while Maya scowls and says: "At least we're closer to summer."

Riley bursts through the school doors with brightness in her eyes and happiness in her heart, turning the corner sharply before backtracking when she notices Smackle standing outside a science lab. "Hey."

"Hi." Smackle waves. 

"What'cha doing?" 

"Waiting for Mr. Galanis to open the door so my lab partner and I can finish our experiment."

Riley uses her hand as a visor and peers around Smackle. She turns and looks the way she came from, squinting off into the distance. "I hate to break it to you, but your science partner isn't here."

"Alana is on her way," Smackle says around a smile. 

"If you get ditched, don't feel bad. Whenever I forced Maya to go to biology lab to review in the morning, she might as well have not shown up at all."

"Wait." Smackle braces her thumb next to her temple and presses the edge of her pointer finger against her forehead, standing on her tiptoes and twisting to look around Riley. "Is that a mirage, or do I spot someone in the distance?"

Riley twirls on her heel and copies her earlier posture "Oh gosh! Your eyes don't deceive you."

"Hey." Alana nods in greeting. "I told you Galanis wouldn't be here yet."

"I didn't realize you tracked his schedule so accurately," Smackle says, but there's nothing harsh coloring her tone. "Maybe I just wanted to be alone with you."

Riley blinks. 

Alana laughs and flips her honey hair. Her purple skirt swishes above her knees and her Keds are bleach white. She's got glittery black eyeliner and a soft pink mouth, and she really is very pretty. "Then you shouldn't have brought a friend."

"She just showed up."

Riley blinks again and feels a twinge in her chest. She forces a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," and "I was kidding," come from Smackle and Alana respectively. Riley fiddles with the strap of her backpack and keeps smiling. 

"Smackle just likes to hit on me because I'm _so beautiful_ ," Alana drawls, twirling her hair around her finger. There's something about her attitude that reminds Riley of Maya, but she doesn't like it on her nearly as much. "And I like to be told how _devastatingly stunning_ I am every day."

"She's going to marry me for my brain and fortune." Smackle nods. When her mouth quirks up her eyes shift back to Alana; she waggles her brows. 

Riley has seen Smackle flirt with a handful of people, a directness that first caused Riley's eyes to bug and then crinkle. There's honesty and bravery in it, and Smackle's only gotten better at cutting herself off if the person on the receiving end reacts negatively. She's seen Smackle compliment Farkle and snuggle into his side, his arm draped around her shoulders and fingers brushing against her skin. She's seen Smackle press a kiss against Farkle's cheek, eyes dewy and warm as she referred to him as "dear." Riley recognizes the pinching of her own shoulder blades now as new, but it reminds her of when Maya also liked Lucas. 

"I would make a great trophy wife," Alana laughs. 

Smackle looks her up and down, clicking her tongue. "I'll say."

"As fun as this is," Riley breaks in, mouth still straining into a grin and trying to hide her panic. "I really need to meet Farkle for ... a thing." Smackle's eyebrows furrow and Alana's mouth twists in confusion. "See you later."

Riley power walks around the corner, hands clenched around the straps of her bookbag. It's not that Riley feels jealous of Smackle's relationship with her lab partner, although there's a trickle of that cool green feeling dripping down her spine, it's that Riley wishes that Smackle would flirt with her. Not as a direct result of Alana or to even anything out, but because she wants Smackle to want to. It's more "I wish she would flirt with me, too," and less, "I wish she would flirt with me, instead." Her legs feel shaky, and she feels almost lightheaded. Everything else has felt slow and steady, but this hits Riley like a train to the chest, wheels screeching against the tracks and sparks flying. She feels knocked down, so she texts Maya: SOS!!! Bay window in 11 hours!!!

 

 

Maya sticks her head through the window. "Admiral Hart reporting for duty."

"Maya," Riley breathes. She looks up from the history assignment she's half-attempting. She keeps reading paragraphs from the textbook that won't stick in her brain, drifting off even as her eyes keep scanning the page. 

"Riley." Maya grins, crawling through the window and taking her spot. "I'm here to save the ship."

Riley shakes her head and feels her mouth pull up. She pushes her book away and sits up on her bed. "I wasn't being literal. It's not that big of a deal. I overreacted."

"What?" Maya slams her hand over her heart and gasps. "You? Overreact? Impossible!"

"I know!" Riley stops resisting her smile and fiddles with her duvet, smoothing out the rivulets. "How was your day?"

Maya shrugs. "Good. I ate a dining hall cheeseburger with sriracha and McDonalds pickles. And the tour guide tried to talk everyone into majoring in cartooning. Which, listen, I'd love to do an entire series with you as a superhero, but I've been over the superhero stuff since like, before it began."

"Cartooning doesn't necessarily mean you have to write comic books." Riley splays her hands on her sheets and leans forward, spreading her reach as wide as possible. She pulls her lip into her mouth and watches the ripples disappear. 

"And I know I wouldn't live in on-campus housing because it'd be a gigantic waste of money I don't have, but Shawn totally volunteered to hook me up if I wanted to, which I think means he wants more alone time with my mom." Maya scrunches up her nose and shudders.

"Ew."

"Ew," Maya agrees. "But missing an entire day of school to walk to various buildings and watch artists working is amazing. I told my mom I wanted to spend a day at Julliard, and I think I can convince her."

Riley rolls carefully off her bed, not wanting to mess up the progress she's made straightening her sheets. "Does Julliard even have a general fine arts program?"

"Nope." Riley looks up in time to see Maya's devilish grin. "I don't think I can convince her I want to be an actress, but maybe she'd buy that I've suddenly developed a love of dance." 

"Oh!" Riley smiles. "You can connect it to your Irish heritage. We can both take Irish dancing lessons! There's a girl on the cheerleading team who used to compete when she was in middle school." Riley imagines herself and Maya in those Shirley Temple wigs and milkmaid dresses. She pictures a world where this has been her secret talent all along and reaches for her laptop. "Let's google it."

"Calm down, Riles. I don't actually want to learn how to dance." Maya chuckles and runs a hand through her hair. "I just want to miss school."

"Blah blah blah." Riley twirls her way to the bay window, stumbling when she gets dizzy and plopping down next to Maya. 

"Now spill."

Riley frowns. She likes that she can tell Maya if she thinks a girl is pretty and have Maya know exactly what she means by it. She likes that Maya pushed her into talking to the cute cashier at Demolition last week, even though it was awkward and Riley laughed too much at things that weren't actually jokes. But she's worried about what liking Smackle would mean for their group of friends, and she wonders if maybe she only thinks she likes Smackle because Smackle also likes girls, taking out some of the guesswork. Maybe Riley just thinks she likes Smackle because it seems easy. She's been down a similar path before, and she doesn't want to make the same mistakes again. "I want Smackle to flirt with me."

"What?" Maya's eyes widen and her mouth presses into a thin line.

"I don't know!" Riley throws her hands into the air and groans. She feels better having shared the thought with someone else, but she had talked herself down throughout the day, and now it feels like it matters again. "She was flirting with her lab partner, and I wanted her to pay attention to me, so I left really awkwardly."

"Sure." Maya reaches out and pats her knee. "Okay. So, was it like you want Smackle to flirt with you because you like how it feels when people flirt with you?"

"I do like when people flirt with me." Riley smiles, blushing a little at the simple idea of it and tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's nice."

"Yes it is, honey," Maya says in that low voice she uses when she's trying to be nice to Riley even though she thinks Riley is being absurd. "Or is it that you actually like Smackle? Because that opens a whole can of worms with Farkle."

Riley worries her bottom lip between her teeth and sighs. "I'm a horrible." 

"A horrible what?"

"A horrible."

Maya laughs and nudges Riley with her elbow. "You're not. Just ... tell me what you think about when you think about Smackle."

Something heavy settles in Riley's stomach, and she looks down at her rainbow socks. Farkle bought them for her on Valentine's Day, and she loves them and she loves him. She rubs at her arms even though she's not cold and breathes in and out. She closes her eyes and thinks about Smackle. "I like that she refuses to wear contacts even though her eyes are so expressive and nice. I like that she always says what's on her mind, but that she's a good friend who always tries her best to be there for us even when it's hard. I like studying with her because she makes me feel smart even though her IQ is--" Riley pauses, raising her arm above her head and gesturing with her hand. "I like when she laughs at my jokes because she's so uninhabited. I like the sound of her voice, and I like the way she softens when I hug her." Riley opens her eyes and exhales, long and loud. 

"Okay, I think that answers that." Maya smiles fondly. "But what do you feel in here?" Maya asks, tapping her fingers over her heart. 

Riley curls her toes and feels the truth of it slipping out. "Warm. Scary but safe. Her voice is like a really good song. It's like ... a really good song when she touches me."

Maya hugs her. "Okay," she whispers.

"Okay." Riley pulls back. "So, I have crush on Smackle?"

"You looooove her," Maya sing-songs.

"I shouldn't have told you." Riley shakes her head, her own giggle bubbling deep in her chest. 

"You want to hold her haaaaaaand. You want to kiiiiiiiss her." Maya makes loud, smacking noises. 

"Stop that," Riley protests, shoving Maya away, but it's weak and caught up in a laugh that makes Riley feel like everything will be okay. She thinks that's the magic of the bay window. That's the magic of having Maya as her best friend: even when Maya's reluctant to believe it for herself, she always helps Riley know that everything is going to be okay. 

 

 

Riley swings her arms by her sides, focusing on the press of her feet against the pavement as she and Maya walk toward the park. Running gets more difficult as the days get warmer, but it also makes Riley feel better about their lap when they finish. The harder she breathes and the more she sweats, the more she deserves a smoothie to go along with her pastry. When they turn into the park, she spots Smackle in her PE shirt and shorts. She narrows her eyes at Maya. "What did you do?"

Maya looks up and rolls her shoulders back, smirking when she sees Smackle. "I may or may not have invited her to run with us."

"Why?" Riley hisses. She catches Smackle's eye and waves, but then nudges Maya in the side with intent to hurt.

"Ow." Maya rolls her eyes. "Because you like her."

"And you think I don't know that? I told you that." Riley doesn't know when Maya started meddling without her, but she doesn't think it becomes her. 

"Smackle!" Maya saunters over and punches her shoulder. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I don't normally participate in cardiovascular activities, but I know variety in exercise prevents your body from stagnating with it."

"Yes, very important," Maya says with the air of someone who does not care about that at all. "Riley is _super_ into cardiovascular activities."

Maya winks. Actually and literally winks. 

Riley glares. "I am not."

"Well," Smackle begins, taking a few steps but staying in place. "As much as I want to talk about sex with you, Maya, I think we should start our run. I would like to have time to shower before Topanga's later."

Riley smirks at Maya, but Maya just laughs. "Another time, sister."

"I was kidding," Smackle deadpans. "I don't want to talk about that with you." 

"Let's just!" Riley waves her arms toward the path, watching Smackle track the movement with a furrowed brow and Maya with amusement. She sighs and takes off. 

It's awkward at first. She pushes herself faster than she normally runs because she doesn't want Smackle to think she goes too slow. She wonders if Smackle is cataloging the flaws in her form or judging the way her breathing gets heavy and her face transforms into a tomato. But after reciting a mantra about how Riley's doing this for herself and the cheerleading squad, and that if Smackle decides not to like her precisely because her running is not up to par, then so be it, she settles and slows to a comfortable pace. She's halfway over the bridge that means she's 3/4 of the way done when she hears Maya call: "Slow down!"

"What?" Riley whips her head back before skidding to a stop and doing a double take. Maya is powerwalking, but Smackle is still trying to run. She looks like she could faint at any moment. _Oh_. She's going to give the girl she likes heat stroke or shin splits or something else awful. She's an idiot.

Riley jogs back to where they are, resting her hand on Smackle's arm. "Are you okay?" She unstraps one of the little bottles of water from the hydration belt Auggie bought her for Christmas. She normally brings one for herself and one for Maya, and truthfully, they don't run long enough to really need them before they get to the bakery, but Riley worries about these things, and Maya whines about being thirsty before they even step foot outside. 

"I'm," Smackle huffs, "okay." She takes the bottle and chugs half its contents. Her chest heaves, and her face seems both red and pale at the same time. "Sorry."

"We're almost done! We can walk the rest of the way." Riley nods encouragingly. 

"This is the best day of my life," Maya says. "I've been trying to get Riley to let me walk for the last two years."

"You should both keep going," Smackle manages, still clutching the baby water bottle in her hand. "I'll just catch up with you."

"No, no, no, no, no." Maya shakes her head. "We couldn't leave you behind in this state. I won't allow it! It would be irresponsible and untimely and--"

Smackle glares. "I'm not a toddler. I just prefer yoga." She takes another long gulp of water. "There's no running in yoga."

"We can walk this time," Riley assures, pressing her hand tentatively against Smackle's bicep. "Besides, changing it up is good. Don't want my body to get immune to the regular run."

Smackle smiles a little, and Riley feels it in her fingertips. 

When they get to Topanga's, Riley picks out a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie to go along with a strawberry banana smoothie, and Maya gets a cinnamon roll, cheese danish and raspberry mango smoothie. She feels her bank account depleting, but she's started noticing Maya sharing some of her haul with Lucas every week, and she can't find it in herself to bring it up or complain. Riley turns to Smackle. "What would you like?"

"I'll pay for it myself." The color in Smackle's face has returned to normal, but a strand of hair is stuck to her forehead with sweat, and Riley has no idea why she finds it so cute.

"No, I got it."

"She pays for mine every week." Maya grins, and Riley also has no idea why she finds that so endearing. 

"No, really, you don't have to," Smackle says. 

"I want to. You almost died today because I wasn't paying attention."

"I did not almost die." Smackle rolls her eyes. "But thank you."

They find a table toward the back, and Riley keeps glaring at Maya for forcing sexual references where they don't belong. She feels like her cheeks are constantly flushed, and it's really not helping the tension in her neck and shoulders. Smackle keeps looking at Maya like she's grown a second head before saying: "Are you hitting on me?"

"Please," Maya scoffs. "In your dreams. But I do have to check out that cheesecake my mom just set on the counter." Maya hops off her chair, and when she's safely outside Smackle's line of sight, wraps her arms around herself and pretends to make out with air. 

Riley bites the inside of her cheek and feels the stiffness in her shoulders expand. "Sorry about her, she's just..." A myriad of adjectives come to mind, but Riley is unwilling to apply them to Maya. "Maya."

"Sounds like she's frustrated," Smackle mumbles before taking a long sip of her smoothie. 

"I don't know if she's looking to date right now." Riley crosses her ankles and does her best to channel Maya's confidence, but the directness of asking Smackle if she's looking to date right now stalls in her throat. It would have been simple before, something she'd ask out of friendship, but knowing she has ulterior motives makes it feel like prying. She's great at altruistic prying, but selfish prying makes her bones feel dense. 

"Oh." Smackle shrugs. "I think maybe the best thing is to not actively look for someone to date, anyway."

"The magazines all say that you find someone when you stop focusing on it," Riley offers. 

"Riley, I think you need to depend less on magazines and quizzes to tell you what to do with your life." Smackle smiles fondly, and Riley presses her mouth together before looking down and cutting another piece of pie with her fork. "But I do think there's some wisdom in that one."

"And what do you do if you find someone you do want to date?" Riley asks. 

"You ask them out."

It's so simple. She eats her pie and looks at Smackle, dry with sweat and as unabashed as ever.

It's so simple, but it's so hard. 

 

 

"There's something seriously wrong with you," Zay says, pulling a chili cheese fry from the pile he and Smackle are sharing this month. 

"You're absurd." Smackle shakes her head and uses her fork to gnaw a fry in half. "My choices in kiss, marry, avoid say nothing about me as a person."

Zay scoffs, aghast. "Someone who wouldn't marry Princess Giselle _would_ think that."

"You're avoiding Anne Shirley." Smackle raises an eyebrow. "My mother would have a few choice words to say about that."

"She was dramatic as hell!" Zay grabs another fry, a glob of chili falling against his thumb when he pulls it free. He grabs at a napkin, causing the ones underneath to fan out against the table, and wipes the chili away. "Plus, the movie started with her as a youth. You don't marry or kiss a youth unless you are also a youth."

"You see her as an adult. You don't stop dating someone because their parents show you their baby photos."

"That's not what Farkle told me about your breakup." Zay smiles, and Smackle rolls her eyes. 

Riley watches the exchange, swirls a sweet potato fry around her honey mustard, and feels at peace in a way she thinks meditation is meant to bring. She likes GSA days. She likes that Zay detours to her locker and walks to the meetings with her. Smackle always arrives just in the nick of time, and the thought of walking in even a second after the meeting has started makes Riley's heart hammer uncomfortably against her rib cage. She likes that it feels like a place genuinely run by the students and for the students. People are honest there, exposing their hearts and guts and experiencing love and acceptance in return. She likes that nobody pushes anyone to participate in fundraisers or poster-making or even in the meetings themselves. 

She knows it's not perfect, and she feels like she's still learning every day. Riley thinks in 10 years she'll look back at some of it and think of ways it could've been better and more constructive, but for right now it's what she needs. She likes to be around people who are like her in this way, or people who just want to actively support her in this way. The word community settles somewhere in her chest. 

She likes coming to this diner with Smackle and Zay after. She doesn't know how they always seem to want to split the exact same thing, no quibbling or arguing; they save that for every other conversation topic. They used to mix up their food destination before Riley started tagging along, but now they insist on coming here. Smackle calls it tradition, and community echoes around Riley's skull again. 

Mischief dances through Zay's eyes as he smirks and rubs his palms together. "Me, Lucas, Farkle."

" _You're_ a youth." Smackle stabs at another fry before nibbling on the end sticking off her fork. 

"Too scared to answer?" Zay waggles his eyebrows.

"Marry Lucas, kiss Farkle, avoid you." 

"I'm not going to take that personally, Izzie." Zay's words are saccharin and he flutters his eyelashes. "I'd marry Lucas, kiss myself and avoid Farkle."

"How would that work?" Riley asks with a tilt of her head.

"Think about it for a minute, sugar." He smiles, and Riley frowns. "I'm always gonna participate, even if I'm one of the options. I'm not scared of nothing."

"If you insist on bringing our friends into it: Me, Riley, Maya." Smackle licks at the corner of her mouth, balancing her fork on the edge of her plate and shooting a glance at Riley before focusing her attention on Zay, her expression composed. 

"You think this is difficult?" Zay asks. "I have thought about this so many times it's basically not even a question."

"Then stop stalling and answer."

"Kiss Maya, marry Riley," he pauses to wink at Riley, and Riley feels her cheeks flush, smiling in response. She really, really likes being liked. "Avoid you."

"And you're not just saying that because I avoided you?" Smackle asks. 

"I respect the integrity of the game." Zay pokes at her shoulder, causing Smackle to reach up and brush at it like she's trying to rid herself of his cooties.

"I'd marry Maya," Riley offers. 

They didn't ask her to play, and she's stayed quiet throughout the various rounds of boyband members, teenage drama actors, and live action children's movie characters. She knows Zay would normally force everyone at the table to participate, but she hasn't officially come out to anybody outside her immediate family, Maya and Farkle. Riley doesn't think she's going to, either. She wants to live her most authentic life and let it surface when it surfaces. It was nice to sit down Maya and her parents, but the idea of having to shake the hand of every person she meets and tell them she's gay in order to be comfortable in her sexuality is impossible, absurd, and causes stress to bundle in her nerves -- for a good two hours last night, she thought this genuinely seemed like a good way to live before Auggie pointed out that it's not. She came around to his wisdom pretty quickly when she realized how much work her system would require.

She's comfortable, and Riley thinks she's still settling into it, but that it will begin to feel even more solid and good in her heart over time. But, for now, she's content. 

In turn, she thinks Zay and Smackle are still careful with her. They don't want to force her to play a round with guys or a round with girls. They don't want to push her into things she's not ready for, and she loves them for it. But Riley's also learned that occasionally she needs a good shove -- Maya's pretty good at that, and so is her mother, and sometimes she's even good at pushing herself. 

"Duh." Zay rolls his eyes, but there's affection there, and his smile radiates warmth. "Y'all are practically married as it is."

"I'd kiss Smackle and avoid myself." She nods and folds her hands together on the table. 

"You can't avoid yourself," Smackle says. "It makes much more sense to marry or kiss yourself."

"I don't want to avoid you or Maya." Riley scrunches her forehead and her mouth turns down. "That's mean."

"And," Zay adds, "this proves how much this game says about someone. Riley is simply a better person than you and me. She'd rather avoid herself than hurt your feelings and avoid you."

"Shut it." Smackle shakes her head. "I'd marry Riley, kiss myself and avoid Maya."

Riley blushes again; she can feel it on her cheeks and down her neck. Her entire body goes hot in a way she wishes it wouldn't, telling and embarrassing. Her heartbeat picks up, and she bites at her bottom lip. Her chest goes tight, forcing too much air out of her lungs. "You shouldn't avoid Maya. Maya's the best."

"You're pretty great, too," Smackle says, making eye contact. 

Riley swallows. The sincerity of it makes her feel even more on edge, and her shoulders curl forward. She feels obvious, which is the worst, because she's been working very hard to make sure nobody knows she has a crush on Smackle, least of all Smackle herself. "Thanks!" Her voice is high and squeaky, and she needs to change the subject immediately. "Belle, Ariel or Pocahontas."

Zay laughs, and Smackle tilts her head, eyes focusing even more on Riley, like she can't quite figure out what just happened. 

And Riley really, really needs to send Zay a fruit basket or something, because he cracks his knuckles and holds court: "Let's break this one down."

 

 

Farkle scribbles down a series of numbers, and Riley focuses on the small lines forming blocky 5's and 9's. She doesn't understand half the words on his math homework, but she lets them fade into her brain knowing someday she will. It's exciting and terrifying, and she's glad she'll have Farkle to ask for help when that someday comes. Riley's not bad at math. She pays attention in class, takes meticulous notes and reviews them every night before tackling the problem set. She's not a natural at it either, but she's more than willing to shoot her hand up and ask the teacher to clarify a few things. She believes there's no such thing as a stupid question, but more than that, she believes that if she wants to know something, there's at least one other person in the room who wants to know, too. 

And then there's Farkle. 

When she's really struggling on a homework problem because it diverts too far from the practice they did in class -- Riley often wonders if she really understands math, or if she just memorizes the steps she needs to take to get the correct answer and spits them back out -- he's there to explain it to her. 

He's always there for her. 

"Hey Farkle?" She taps her pencil against her textbook and bites the inside of her cheek. 

"Yeah?" He finishes setting up an equation with a greater than sign before looking up. His face immediately goes from nonplussed to concerned: eyebrows scrunched together, mouth thin and tight. Farkle can read her better than anyone else, and Riley doesn't think about it too much until the moments she wishes he wasn't so good at it. 

She takes a deep breath before lifting her mouth into a small, shaky smile. Farkle loves her. She knows he does. He has always loved her. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He sets his pencil down and sits back, eyes scanning her face. 

"I need to tell you something, but I don't want you to get angry with me." She resists the urge to close her eyes, splay her hands over her face and curl up. Confiding in Farkle is something she's been doing for so long that she feels safe telling him anything, but it's never felt this tied up in him before. She's good at confessing secrets and fears she harbors about herself, her journey, her purpose, her problems. She's good at listening to his, at picking out the things nagging at him most and making him realize how great he is, how those things aren't even problems. She believes he can overcome anything. 

"What is it?" 

He's so still Riley feels like all the air in the room has crystallized around them. "I don't want to hurt you, but I think I-" Her voice breaks, and she focuses on his eyes, the warmth and love in them that never seems to go away. "I like Smackle."

"You do."

"Yes," Riley confirms, even though his tone had been flat.

His eyes are still warm and brimming with affection, but the weight on Riley's lungs remains as she watches his face, studies the chapped lines on his lips, the bow of his eyebrow, the curve of his cheek. She doesn't know what she's looking for, maybe betrayal, disgust or heartbreak. She can't find any of it. 

"I could never be angry with you because of the way you feel," he whispers, fingers marching toward hers across the table. "Feelings are larger than all of us."

"But she was your girlfriend." Riley knows this must hurt him somewhere deep in his chest. She thinks he's being kind in a way she doesn't deserve. She let this happen, between studying for English last semester and going for snacks after GSA. She allowed herself to linger on the things about Smackle she likes: her intellect and confidence and kindness, the way she pushes her glasses up by pressing at the top of the left frame, the way her smile dominants her face, the cadence of her speech. She thinks there must have been a way to stop it, and she should've. Because she loves Farkle so much it's part of her marrow. 

"Yes." Farkle agrees. He scoots forward, chair scraping against the floor, and his middle finger brushes against her pinky. Riley relents, unfolding her hands and resting her fingers against his like a puzzle. "She _was_. She's not mine anymore."

"But, girl code," Riley protests before cringing. "Friend code."

Farkle smiles small. "Riley, if I was still hung up on her, then yeah, maybe that would be something to consider. But I'm not. She's my friend, and I want her to be happy. And you're my best friend, and I want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for both of you."

"But I don't want to hurt you." Riley doesn't understand it. Back in middle school when she and Lucas had an unofficial thing, it made jealousy and rejection ache and boil in her chest when she thought he and Maya liked each other. Farkle and Smackle dated for over two years. She figures if you multiple it, Farkle would have to feel the same, only worse. Riley tried to hide it then, and she presses her fingers closer, curling her hand around his and holding on. She doesn't see a storm in his eyes. She doesn't see anything he's trying to hide.

"I'm not hurt. I promise." Riley frowns and Farkle nods. He squeezes her hand and sighs. "Smackle and I had a good relationship. But it's over, and we've moved on, and I'm happy with that. What kind of person would I be if I tried to stop two people I love from being happy together just because I was with her first? I used to think that mattered, but you and Maya and life showed me that it doesn't. Feelings are more complicated than that. So complicated that this time they're simple."

"You don't feel anything?" Riley narrows her eyes. "Not even the teeniest tiniest itsy-ist bitsy-ist bit hurt or upset or sad?"

"No."

Riley waits a beat, waits for the other shoe to drop, but she believes him. She and Farkle are always honest with each other. "Okay."

They go back to studying, but before Farkle leaves he gives her a hug that she can't help but lean in to, resting her head against his shoulder and breathing in deep. It's the kind of hug you give someone when something important or sad has happened, the kind of hug you only give when someone really needs it. "I think she likes you, too," he says.

Riley closes her eyes and hugs him as close as possible. "Thank you."

 

 

Riley slides along the lunch bench until she's across from Smackle. It's rare that it's just the two of them at lunch, usually they're flanked by Farkle and Lucas, but Lucas has an away game that means the team was called out of classes after third period for travel -- Riley wants to know why she's never gotten called out that early for cheerleading, an entire speech about sports and sexism percolating in her brain -- and Farkle's meeting with some physics group to discuss quantum something. 

"Hey." She rips her straw from her milk carton, the plastic crinkling between her fingers. Riley taps it against the table until the straw pokes through the packaging. "Just us girls today."

"A lucky break." Smackle smiles, carefully tearing the crust off her sandwich. "I don't think I can deal with any more testosterone today."

"What happened?"

"A ridiculous argument about socialization and biology in my psychology course." Smackle rolls her eyes before taking a dainty bite and wiping at her mouth with the corner of her napkin. "There might not be any scientific way to prove causation or correlation, but to outright dismiss the role societal pressures and roles have played into the adaption of the female and male brains is irresponsible."

"I agree." Riley nods. She folds the top of her milk carton before pulling it open and sticking her straw inside. The milk at school is creamy and chocolatey, and she refuses to look into why, because she knows it's cheap and probably horrifying. "I knew the answer in math today, but the teacher called on a boy who wasn't paying attention instead."

Smackle laughs, and Riley can't help the pride that swells in her chest, making her sit up straighter. "There is research about the way teachers educate. They tend to focus on men in the classroom."

"And I am very interested in hearing about it." Riley actually is, but her brain hurts from Spanish last period, and her body aches from trying to learn the new cheer routine. "Can we table the discussion for later, though? I need to talk about something nice. Like, I don't know, the purple flowers growing behind the school or how great Trisha's bob makes her chin look?"

"Her chin?" Smackle's eyebrows furrow. "I guess the line of it does draw your attention there."

"I know! I think she thought I was making it up when I told her, but I was being totally honest." 

"If she knew you at all, she would know you would never give a compliment you didn't mean." 

Riley's lungs expand, and she knows Smackle didn't say anything romantic, but she feels the words like small tingles along her arms. "We have that in common."

Smackle presses her mouth together. "I guess we do."

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Riley starts peeling her orange, nail digging into the skin and pulling it away from the flesh. 

"I was going to see a documentary on mountain gorillas."

"Oh, cool!" 

"It was supposed to be a family outing, but my mother was called to do an emergency surgery in Chicago, and my father is tagging along." Smackle shrugs before taking another bite of her sandwich. "My lola is staying with me, but she's not interested in animals."

Riley frowns. "Oh, that's too bad."

Smackle dabs at her mouth with her napkin, eyes clear and bright. She picks at the crust lying in her tubberware. Riley knows she'll eat it last. "I still might go."

"You don't feel weird going to the movies by yourself?" Riley feels weird doing anything by herself. She went to the store to pickup some garlic because her mom needed it to make dinner, and she wanted to assure the old woman at the checkout with blue hair and sad eyes that she wasn't planning on eating a clove by itself, she's not worried about vampires even though they could definitely be real, and that she was taking it home to her family for a complete and balanced meal. 

"Not really. People who talk to you during films are annoying."

Riley tilts her head, quirking an eyebrow. "How did you ever go on a date with Farkle?"

Smackle doesn't laugh, but her eyes light up similarly to how they do when she does. She looks down, pushing at the corner of her glasses with her finger. "It was a struggle, but most of our dates involved other activities. He realized it drove me nuts, and I think he was tired of blurting things out while I shushed him."

"I love going to the movies with Farkle." Riley really does. She likes when he leans over and spoils exactly how the film is going to end, because she usually has no idea. She finds it reassuring that he sees a way out of whatever the problem is, that he sees a happy ending. And when she drags him to one of romances she loves, because Zay and Maya are busy, he humors her when the two leads meet and she leans over, giddily explaining that they're going to fall in love. 

"He loves going with you, too," Smackle says. "And not just because you're one of two people who will actually go with him."

Riley beams. "I am a very good movie-going-partner."

"You could come with me, if you want."

Riley's finger punctures a slice of orange and juice squirts onto her cheek. She forces a laugh and scratches a napkin against her skin.

"But don't feel obligated," Smackle says.

"No! No, I'm super interested in gorillas. When I was younger I watched _George of the Jungle_ all the time." Riley shoves the orange into her mouth to keep herself from rambling. There was truth to her early interactions with Lucas, making a fool of herself and being rendered absurdly speechless, because it still happens with people she likes when she's not babbling on about nothing in misguided attempts to draw attention away from how weird she's being. Right now she kind of misses the weirdness of opening her mouth and having nothing come out instead of ridiculous chatter.

"Okay." Smackle reaches across the table to tap her fingers against Riley's knuckles, just once. "I would really like that."

"Me too," Riley says. She inhales and watches Smackle's eyelashes flutter as she blinks. Smackle makes her nervous because she wants Smackle to like her, but there's something grounding about her, too. The mismatch of tension and ease feels good. Riley didn't know having a crush could feel so wonderful before. It's not the pure elation she sometimes felt with Lucas, but there was effort there, too. It's real now, and Riley can feel that beating in her chest, and it's better. It's so much better. 

 

 

Smackle and Riley meet at the theater on Saturday afternoon. It's a quaint little place in Astoria that has an old-timey popcorn machine, sells red vines and hot dogs and not much else. They're forced to walk up two flights of stairs to get to their screen, despite it being the only movie the theater seems to be showing today. Smackle buys her ticket, so Riley insists on purchasing two sodas and a medium popcorn to share. It's soaked in butter and salt, and Riley doesn't even miss her red gummies. 

The movie is more intense than she thought it would be. Riley goes in expecting to see lots of cute gorillas, and maybe a sad story about how they're being hunted. What she gets is a human battle between the group trying to save the gorillas and the group trying to use them for financial gain. It's heartbreaking, and she spends half the film wiping at her eyes and trying not to cry. She doesn't dislike it, but it's heavier than she thought it would be, and blinking against the sun as she leaves the theater makes her feel cold. 

"What do you want to do now?" Riley asks. Her mouth feels raw from her soda, and she rubs at her arms with her hands. 

"Dinner?" Smackle asks. She brushes some hair off her forehead and leaves her hand over her eyes as a visor. 

Riley bites her lip. She told her parents she'd be home for dinner, but she doesn't want this to be over yet. "Yeah, okay."

They walk down the road to a small Thai place, and after settling in, Smackle offers: "My parents and I always come here for dinner after seeing a documentary. It would feel weird if I didn't."

"But I bet you would have come alone." 

"Yes." 

"I really like you," Riley says. It feels like an important admission, but she takes a sip of water and focuses on the low lighting, tells herself it will mask any blush or embarrassment. 

Smackle's eyebrows tilt down in the way Riley has come to learn denotes she's working through a problem in her head and not simply confused or displeased. "I like you, too."

"And I'm really glad you let me tag along with you today."

"You're my friend." Smackle blinks and her face clears. "Friends spend social time together."

"I- I- I know," Riley stutters and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She shakes her head and tries to swallow around the lump in her throat turning into a rock in her stomach. "I just meant this seems like something special you do with your family, and it's nice of you to let me in on it."

"Oh." Smackle nods and smooths the edges of her place mat. "I came out to my parents here." Her mouth quirks up. "Well, sort of. I guess they always knew, and my filter has never been very good, but I told them about how good-looking a girl in my science class was, and my mom asked if I had a crush on her. I said yes."

"That's so ... easy." 

Smackle shrugs. "I guess it just felt natural to me. My parents have worked hard over the years to make me comfortable with who I am, and it just extended into that part of my life when I needed it to."

"I want to be that comfortable with who I am," Riley says. 

"You will be." Smackle smiles small. "Some days I still wish I was more normal than I am, but then I remember what you said about nobody being normal, and I do my best to embrace myself."

Riley splays her hand over her chest and presses her thumb against her clavicle. She feels warm and happy and like maybe Smackle sees the best version of her. Riley wants to keep being that person. "You've made it easier for me to be me, too," Riley says. She feels a little bit like she might cry again, but her face is still tight with unshed tears -- and a few shed ones -- from the movie. She wants to say more, but when she looks at Smackle, she knows Smackle understands and empathizes. She knows she doesn't need to say more at all. 

Silence has never felt as natural and welcome to Riley as it feels now.

Dinner is delicious. They split a huge plate of basil fried rice, as well as the tab. Smackle talks about the movie and Riley listens. She almost doesn't say the film drained her, made her sick and sad in a way she wasn't ready for, but she does. Smackle does that thing where she reaches across the space between them and taps her fingers against Riley's skin, and Riley finds it settles her. They commiserate about Zay's failed attempt at chocolate-lemon bars, because he _knew_ they were awful and still brought them to school and forced them all to try the concoction. Riley says Maya is going to beg him to make more of the oreo fluff ice cream sandwiches, and if she wasn't so full, she'd suggest the two of them go get some ice cream right now. 

They discuss everything from their favorite foods, to Smackle growing up vegetarian and the one time she accidentally ate meat ravioli and was sick all weekend, to the time Riley ran away from home but was too scared to actually leave, so she made herself a makeshift apartment in her closet. It feels like small, inane things that don't mean much of anything, but when Smackle holds open the door for Riley on their way out of the restaurant, she feels infinitely closer to her, and she likes her that much more than she already did. She flexes her fingers with the desire to reach out and interlace them with Smackle's.

"This was really fun," Riley says, standing outside Smackle's brownstone. "I had a great time."

"Me too." Smackle nudges her glasses and looks down at her feet. Riley follows suit, rearranging hers so they're lined up. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?"

Riley feels all the air leave her body and all the blood rush to her head. She's dizzy, and she sways a little. "What?" she whispers.

Smackle catches her eye, and Riley sees uncertainty there. "May I kiss you?"

Riley swallows and smiles, wiping her hands against her skirt. "I'd like that a lot."

She leans in, and so does Smackle. Her hands remain at her sides, fingers itching against the corduroy of her skirt. When Smackle kisses her, Riley feels the sensation travel through her body, from her lips to the jump in her heart to the knot in her stomach to the curl of her toes. It's nice and warm just like the times she's kissed Lucas, but she really feels it now. Riley doesn't have to twist herself into enjoying it, and she can't help but smile against Smackle's mouth. It feels right and good in a way it never has before, and Riley wants to laugh. She does, just a little. 

"That was good," Smackle says. She tugs on Riley's fingers, and Riley curls them around Smackle's, feels like she's holding onto the moment and this day. 

It's going to end. 

She's going to go home, texting Maya a bunch of exclamation points and emojis on the way, and then she's going to call her and force her to come over so she can retell everything that happened in excruciating detail. She _wants_ to talk about this. She wants Maya to paint it for her. She wants to look back on it tomorrow, next month, in fifty years and feel this same bubbling in her heart, the bounce in her step and the smile she won't be able to wipe off her face for the rest of the night. Riley's looking forward to all of that. 

"Really good," she agrees around the grin already forming on her lips. "Thank you."

"I'll call you," Smackle says.

"I'll call you, too."

Smackle laughs, and Riley tugs her forward again, kisses her, just a soft press, and then hugs her. This time Smackle melts easy as anything into her arms and hugs her back, no hesitation. Riley squeezes her tighter and closer. Her shampoo smells likes strawberries, and she's nice and warm just like her kiss, and Riley feels the sun shining even though it set an hour ago. 

 

 

Riley stands up, looks around the room and takes a deep breath: "My name's Riley Matthews, and I'm a lesbian."

"Sugar, this isn't queers anonymous," Zay says from her right. 

"Let me have my moment."

"I'm proud of you, dear," Smackle says from her other side. 

"Thank you." Riley smiles down at her before looking around the GSA meeting again. She knows she doesn't have to do this, but she wants to. She wants these people to know how much their own stories and comments have helped her accept herself. She wants them to know she's glad this club exists. She has always liked having the floor, and she wants to do this for herself, and for anyone else sitting in their circle who feels the way she did a few months ago, for anyone it might make feel a little bit more like themselves. "Anyway, as I was saying, there are _a lot_ of pretty girls."


End file.
